Tenebrosa
by A.G.M. Mendelssohn
Summary: Upon an uncanny business trip in Northern Johto, the young financial consultant Renarde Jacques receives a rather strong impression that all is not well with his new client, a misanthrope mistress with only a loyal Ninetales by her side...Updated again.
1. Renarde Jacques: Chapter One

This story is documented from the various perspectives of the first-hand victims. The order that these documents appear will make manifest of themselves as the tale progresses. All the events within this story are told in the exact words of whom they concern. Overall, this account relates supernatural occurrences, ancient superstitions, metamorphic curses, social rejection and repulsion, and a romance so depraved and uncultivated that it comes near to the grim fate of all human life—all themes which will explain themselves as the story unfolds.

Please read this strange and unusual account, and then review.

* * *

**TENEBROSA**

_**By A.G.M. Mendelssohn, 2006**_

**Chapter One**

* * *

_From the documented perspective of Renarde Jacques—_

_Mahogany— _We have recently arrived at the railway station after a lengthy journey through the northern countryside—from there, we are to depart on foot for the northbound estate and meet the client whom I shall be troubled with. Certainly I find northeastern Johto a charming region, the scenery rather refreshing compared to the dense metropolises I have been accustomed to. Perhaps it was the majestic heights and the red horizon that trumpeted both dawn and dusk, or was it the absence of ambitious human commercialism? Either, quite likely. And a marvelous setting to do business! I had always fancied bringing my work to the untamed woodlands—an ideal advancement for my career, naturally, but also nourishment to that particular thirst for adventure. It was an uplifting thing, to experience what has yet to be experienced, to enjoy better sunrises and serene memories, never yielding to what might ensnare me in the unknown.

Of course, my travels are rarely complete without the accompaniment of my beloved wife. Every adventure was hollow without a companion to savor it with, and by my range of clients and the trips involved, it could be a lonesome quality of life, perhaps even a binding one, holding me down like well-crafted chains. Imagine that, married to one's work, to slave and toil all day with lifeless zeal as a cruel master, up until the rise of a deathly sun—nay, dear Vivian prevents my captivity! I remain free, and my work becomes a wholesome pleasure!

Fortunately, she was able to make this passage with me, since she herself is a busy woman. A pretty brightness never quite leaves her hazel eyes, and she seems to be as enthusiastic as I am to meet this new client—and yet a strange contact. Obviously, it was the rumor of a grand estate and lavish mansion that attracted Vivian to visiting with this patron, since any deal with a wealthy aristocrat proved useful to our own personal income. She was glad to help me in any way to set up an association with its owner.

It was not a master who oversaw our destination, but a mistress. I found it quite unusual that she inherited the estate from her family, questioning why she wouldn't at least find room for a man to keep her company in such a manor. After all, it appeared to be an extensive keep, perhaps sporting several dozen servants and staff. Her letter gave no implication of a marriage, but I shouldn't have been so surprised, with the money I foresaw:

_To Mr. Renarde Jacques, Vermilion City of Kanto— I have heard good words regarding your excellence in business and law advice. Yes, your reputation reaches as far as rural Mahogany, and I am interested in seeking your counseling and advice on my assets. I very much wish your visitation on my estate, settled in the northern Johto mountains, some 200 acres of trees and cliffs. My home was built long before I can remember, probably several hundred years ago, and I have no doubt that it is worth some value to various financial inspectors. I may need to move from this place someday, but I remain too connected to my family ties to give it up to the government._ _Heavens forbid Tenebrosa falls into their hands! Surely such an occurrence will be the end of me, as its true masters and mistresses have kept it well for many generations. I don't intend being the one to lose it. Therefore, I hope to form a partnership with you and receive your advice in financial evaluation of the land, my mansion, my servants, and likely my family history. Perhaps we shall be friends in this matter._

_Fortunately, we have been given gracious time from the taxation enforcement. Apparently, precious few of their agents seem to make it to our company in one piece. I'm afraid Tenebrosa is situated in treacherous landscape, as our roadway has become overgrown with heath and thick trees, leading up into the mountain landscape, where the weak outcroppings of boulders no doubt poise a threat. I'm also afraid to say my mansion is in a fragile state, the battlements worn and certain ceilings about ready to collapse, not to mention several temperamental servants. Several accounts have been in which they, the agents, tragically fell to their death from the heights, or been mauled by our security system. Yet the government remains persistent, and now they even plan to charge me with domestic endangerment and some twisted degree of manslaughter. No, I'll have none of that. I'll keep my land up to the very day that my years end, and I'll go to any means to protect my assets. Until certain events occur, I'll remain fast-rooted to this place. As you can see, your services are appreciated._

_I shall pay you well for your cooperation, of course. Any amount of Pen will most certainly assuage any of your future doubts of finance. I shall even go as far as to enclose your payment for your passage here. Whether you accept or decline this client is your discretion; you may keep the given amount of Pen, nevertheless (8,500 Pen is enough, I assume)._

_Please write a response to this letter—and don't worry about it getting lost on the way here. My mail is set in the highest authority with the postal service. I look forward to hearing from you. —Your future client, Ms. Celia Willow._

She had anticipated correctly. Eighty-five hundred Pen to be part of my clientele, as well as the promise for more, was undeniably a generous offer. I had no idea that my services were so popular, even extending into the Johto region. Generally, most of my business stayed in Kanto, and perhaps the closest I had ever gotten to doing business in Johto was when I was summoned to Indigo Plateau as a transaction witness. A tournament was under way at that time, and the staff and coordinators needed to transfer several ten thousands of Pen from one account to another after a scuffle with a rogue trainer who decided to file a lawsuit.

My wife read the same letter and spurred an equal, if not more, excitement to visit this Ms. Willow's estate. I checked the given currency and to my surprise found sufficient funds to carry both Vivian and me. This would no doubt become a rewarding experience, and better yet, Vivian's sister lived in nearby Blackthorn, some fifty miles east of Mahogany. Perhaps a visit would be in order once my business had been completed. I eagerly scribbled out an acceptance letter of service to _Ms. Celia Willow, of Tenebrosa_. Sure, I thought as I postmarked the letter, it would likely be a perilous trek, with the dangers Ms. Willow foretold, but such a wealthy adventure was something neither Vivian nor I could refuse.

So, on a speedy vessel we soon were from Vermilion's port, entering Olivine, where we then hailed a nonstop train ride to Mahogany, a relatively small city compared to what I am used to, I have heard. Vivian spent most of the ride asleep, which I found reasonable, since this hitherto had been a fairly long trip. But came the first hints of the sunset in the west and she was immediately awakened, admiring the brilliant redness streaked across the sky, as I was.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" I commented. "Almost like the sunrises we get in Vermilion…"

"I suppose the sunrises here are just as nice," she replied, gazing dreamily at the silhouetted mountains and tree lines. "This landscape is simply breathtaking, and I must say, this is quite an ideal place to live, so peaceful…"

Unfortunately, as I was soon to find out, northern Johto was not very well known for its sunrises, with the tall mountain range cropping up on the eastern horizon. Instead, this place was known for heavy torrents of rain and a constant mistiness in the morning hours, a weather pattern that continued most throughout the year. A most curious climate given its earthly hemisphere, I concluded, but a pretty object to stare upon all the same, sunrise or sunset.

I had realized upon boarding the train that we had by accident purchased a ticket that included several stops. Delays were constant, and I soon grew suspicious of the train's durability. It almost detached itself from the track when bumping over a segment of rail while climbing into the escarpments. The meal cart was late as well, and I was most displeased when the conductor made a personal apology to each of us after making a dangerously rickety turn over a high crag of rock, in which several people screamed. It was against my nature to complain, as I generally kept quiet over trivial matters, but I had been fed up with this inadequate passage, already in a bad mood for meandering through nearly every city in Johto. I gave the conductor some well-selected words before returning to my seat, and I hope I inspired him enough to get this train replaced, or at least fixed for future journeys. Especially important, as this would likely be our method of travel on our return trip.

It was the later part of twilight by the time the train had pulled up to the Mahogany station. Vivian and I, pushing through a large crowd of people, pulled our baggage from various compartments before disembarking, the conductor determinedly avoiding my face.

"I you'll feel better after your business is complete," Vivian took kindly to mention. "It's distressing to see you in such a mood."

"Likewise," I muttered, while struggling with a large case filled with documents, billing notices, and law textbooks. "An important step in my career, but I intend to enjoy our time together here as much as possible. Trains are not my favorite means of travel…"

Indeed, I had always preferred a carriage or even a journey by walking. Reintroducing technology, for me, was not a happy thought in such a world—as if it were already loud enough!

We made our way through the bustling amounts of people, eventually reaching the streets, where drawn carriages clicked up and down the ways. I must say, it was quite an odd appearance for a city—it was more like an extended marketplace. Most of the buildings were no more than four-stories-high, and they were structured out of masterfully carved wood, probably the same to this town's namesake. Every window had shudders, the doors were fitted well to their entryways, and rounded wood poles propped every level of the houses, preventing them from collapsing. The streets themselves were made out of connected stones, and sidewalks lined the entire length of travel space. Upon these sidewalks, an abundance of people gathered from one stand to another, selling the wares they had to offer. I recognized several kinds of Apricorn, fruits, and various spices—peppercorns, cinnamon, and many bushels filled with different herbal leaves and restorative berries. People walked here and there, never idle, always concerned with their upcoming business.

I smiled; despite the slight primitiveness, it was good to see the global market in action. I felt right at home—except for the fact we had no such marketplaces or streets in Vermilion. Our city proved slightly more sophisticated, and we had a wide harbor, suitable for roaring trade and financial exchange. And it was situated around several other large cities, most notably the metropolis known as Celadon. We had distinct marks in the cities as far as our economy was concerned: Celadon, the "Cradle of Kanto's Heart," Saffron, the "Evolution of Kanto's Mind," and my beloved Vermilion, the "Port of Divine Hands." My Lord, how I loved the Kanto region! Yet I concluded this place to be not completely unsatisfactory, either. At least there was activity going on, rather than other regions that sit in economical waste for many decades before finally making some progress.

There were some obvious problems with this Mahogany. Filthy urchins still wandered aimlessly around the streets, and once I may had even seen one attempt to pick the pocket of another unfortunate gentleman while his back was turned. The business presentation was untidy, and the outdoor atmosphere was not the wisest choice for striking up great revenue. Yes, imperfections were present. It was a thriving town, but one could still see medieval aspects layered within.

"Mr. Jacques!' A dingy youth called my name, trotting hurriedly in my direction. "Are you Mr. Renarde Jacques, sir? And Mrs. Jacques, madam?"

"I am," I responded, Vivian nodding as well.

The youth waved a folded piece of paper in his hand, handing it to me. "A letter for you, sir! Appropriation by post!"

"Thank you, young lad," I said, opening the creased letter and identifying the sender. "Ah, it is Ms. Willow. News has reached Tenebrosa that we had departed for Mahogany. And now we have arrived."

I looked up, wishing to tip the carrier. "Thank you, young man, I—"

But the youth had already gone. He was halfway down the walkway by the time I realized which way he went, and he constantly glanced over his shoulder, paying me fearful looks, running as if my words were venom. Strange country, I thought to myself. Didn't letter carriers accept tips anymore? I regarded myself by no means intimidating, not being strikingly tall or frightful in complexion, and Vivian was the same. Poor child—probably a neglected orphan…

Dismissing this unusual behavior, I read the tidy handwriting on my received letter:

_To Mr. and Mrs. Renarde Jacques, Vermilion City of Kanto— I am pleased to hear you have departed recently from Olivine, travelling by train to Mahogany, near where I make my home. I hope you enjoy Johto as much as your Kanto. I have made arrangements for your stay at the nearby inn, Azure Cross, and I have confidence that your visit in Mahogany will be a happy one. I suspect your train will arrive late, so I suggest you have a good rest before departing for my estate in the morning._

_Again, I am grateful of your services, Mr. Jacques, and I look forward to doing business with you. I will be pleased in meeting you, Mrs. Jacques, and I expect your husband to be in superior efficiency as my financial evaluation commences. I shall see you tomorrow evening. –Your client and friend, Celia Willow._

"Azure Cross?" I squinted at the note.

"An evening in Mahogany—how delightful!" exclaimed Vivian, hauling her luggage over her shoulder and motioning for a carriage.

We boarded the carriage without much difficulty. It was somewhat of a hassle keeping the luggage from falling off the back of the wagon, but eventually we managed to tie everything down in the compartment space, so we would no longer have any fears of losing anything.

Overall, it was a pleasant ride, and I was able to put in some valuable moments of sightseeing, experiencing the markets and city life of Mahogany. Salespersons still employed the use of a cart in this region, and I noticed the absence of industrial factories—in fact, the entire market looked as if it sold only raw materials and food items. On the other hand, the various clearings were very nice, as it gave both of us a lovely view of the mountain space up ahead. Already the moon was peaking over the ridges and cliffs, and the townsfolk, taking this as a signal to hurry up and end their day's work, began packing up their supplies into their dwellings.

I became slightly unsettled at one time or another. It could have been my imagination, but I could have sworn that the people on the streets were pointing at our carriage as we rode past. I glanced out the windows, and my suspicions were confirmed. Such marketers gazed sadly in my direction, as if I was a guiltless convict about to have my sentence announced. Some crossed themselves and clasped their hands together in prayer, bowing towards us as we trotted along. I myself had never been much of a religious person, yet even their actions made me somewhat weary of something of a higher power, some ill work going on. I rolled up the window and tried to think no more of these strange dealings.

It was fairly half an hour and well into the evening by the time the driver announced we had arrived at Azure Cross. We pulled our bags from the compartments and staggered to the inn's reception. I had a bit of a bother trying to wrench open the front door, the one beneath the crudely cut wooden sign, _Azure Cross_. Already lanterns were being lit up and down the stone streets, the light-bearers hastily setting them to fire and then scurrying off into the darkness. When I finally got the door to work (and realizing that the door had to be pushed inwards to open), Vivian and I then stepped into the receptionist's space.

I'm afraid to say that the hotel was by no means very clean. Cobwebs hung everywhere, and dust coated thickly nearly every surface we cared to glance at. A door at the right bore the title "Dining Room," while another led into what appeared to be a stairway. The door behind the front desk was made out of some sort of dusted glass. Even reception was somewhat cramped, the wall off-color with a crack here and there. There was to be a reckoning with my client on her strange taste of hotel accommodations.

"Yeh—goo' e'ening—yeh!" snapped a greasy-haired receptionist, who was, moments previously, in the private office instead of behind the front desk where he belonged.

"I believe you were expecting us?" I ventured politely, smiling falsely at his poor attitude.

No words spoken, the receptionist pulled a piece of wrinkled paper from his record books. His breath smelt strongly of alcohol as his yellow eyes scrolled down the page. Finally he muttered in an unkind voice, "I ain' go' noon like ye on my list o' reser'ations. Get ye some'ere else and leave dis p'ace!"

Vivian, who had wisely chosen that moment to set down her case, smiled that charming smile I knew all too well. "But surely you must be mistaken?" she asked sweetly. "A client of my husband's made accommodations for us to stay here at Azure Cross—this is Azure Cross, is it not?"

"Yeh, it's Assure C'oss," huffed the man, apparently unaccustomed to answering questions. "Bu' we ain't go' no room' for noon. We're full up wit' gues's, and wi' da comin' market fair, I can' spare no room fer noon. Beshides, there been strane'ge 'appenings goin' on o'er the last few days. Can' trust noon, m'fraid. Eshpecially folks out o' town."

I tried my very best to decipher his strange dialect and responded the best I could: I nodded blankly. But my wife, who seemed to understand every word he had spoken, replied cautiously, "The market fair? Strange happenings? But surely this is all irrelevant to our missing reservations—could you please check again? We are Mr. and Mrs. Renarde Jacques."

At once the man's eyes sharpened, so suddenly that I thought such an increase of attention on his part was impossible. His eyes stared from me to Vivian to me again, and they finally settled on the letter from Willow, which I was still holding. After several seconds of silence, he continued, not nearly as gruff as he was merely moments ago: "'Tis a ba' moon tonigh'," he said. "Yeh, I mayt heard o' a couple o' Jacques comin' to sta' a' this place. Board an' room an' meal ticket fer th' e'ening." He, without ever taking his eyes off us, reached beneath the desk and fished out a rusted key. "Here's ye key. Fourt floor."

Impressed with Vivian's handling of this entire situation, I thought I could get some information on our upcoming destination. I cleared my throat before asking, "And could it be possible for you to tell us anything about a particular estate that we shall be visiting?"

The clerk glared at me and grumbled, "Ma'be. Where ye nee' ta go?"

"Tenebrosa. Do you know anything about it?"

I must have touched a nerve, for whatever tolerance was left in the receptionist's blood suddenly evaporated. "Juts wha' th' _hell _d'ye think I am!" he exploded without warning, his eyes panicky. There was a bead of sweat on the corner of his eyebrow. "I don' know nothin' 'bout no Tenebrosa, an' if I di', I wouldn' tell ye'f life depend'd on it! That God for'aken place don' nee' no more souls ta to'ment. Now, ye go' ye key, so fer God-sake let m'alone—goo' nigh'!"

And with that said, the troublesome clerk retreated into his office, absent of a second glance, slamming the door so violently that the frosted pane in the top-left corner cracked.

I stood there, rusted key in hand, quite unsure as to what to do next. But who wouldn't, after being confronted with such rudeness? Vivian called me to action with a gentle hand to the shoulder:

"Perhaps we ought to bring our bags upstairs to our room, Re?" she inquired.

I snapped back into reality; she had called me by my pet name. "Of course," I agreed, somewhat relieved that there was still at least one sane person here in this odd town. "We shall drop our luggage at our room, perhaps visit the dining room for a late dinner, and then enjoy an evening of rest and relaxation before heading out for Tenebrosa in the morning. But I must say…this town presents quite a few strange people. I pray that these unusual customs don't bog us down, and I can only hope these people don't treat every guest like this. Quite an irrational bunch…"

"I'll have to agree with you," she said, lifting her baggage back over her shoulder. "Now, where did he say our room was?"

My brow furrowed as I tried to visualize the clerk's jagged words. "I believe he said we were to be on the fourth floor."

"Very good," my wife concluded. "Let us go there immediately." She gestured towards the stairs, and we at once crowded into the narrow passageway.

The stairwells were made out of some sort of wood that creaked whenever one would take a step. Obviously this building was a very old piece of architecture, and very poorly lit, I might add. I nearly gashed my forehead by tripping over a step and slamming my head clear across the surface of the floor. Had such a rickety design been allowed back in Vermilion, I swear I would've filed endangerment charges against the owners—but then again, I reminded myself, Willow warned of more treacherous designs in her own mansion. I swallowed, trying not to think of the shambles that she quite possibly would be able to entertain. A faulty stairwell would've been a start.

Once we had groped our way in pretty much nothing but pitch darkness, we eventually found a keyhole that admitted our given key. Jiggling the rusted thing around for a little bit, a click soon indicated that the door had unlocked. Shifting our weight under our surplus of luggage, we staggered into the room—fortunately, I grasped a lantern almost as soon as we had entered, and I wasted no time in setting down my bags and flaring up the lamp.

Now, I had expected our room to be designed along the themes of what I had already seen—the uncleanness, the unwelcome appearance, the sixth-rate aspect. I was not disappointed. The quarters was cramped and filled with shadows, and the air inside was musty, as if no one had dared disturb this room for probably half a century. The ancient floorboards creaked, and I very much doubted that the architecture was reinforced, much less inspected by the government's Department of Residential Safety. A single window, thickly coated with dust and miniature fractures, locked as a portal to the northern end of the hotel, giving us a distorted picture of the town's buildings, dimmed lights, and if one were to squint intently, the absolute tips of the mountains and the rising moon. An antique table lay broken in one corner of the space, and chair with one leg shorter than the other sat crooked by our bed. The bed itself was sunken in the middle, and the frame holding up the mattress looked as if it would crumble to pieces should anyone even exhale half a breath upon it. The pillows and blankets were ripped halfway across the seams, and for an overall impression, I began to wonder if this town was out to make us feel as uncomfortable as possible.

Unable to grasp the correct words to utter about this place, I swung my luggage around and deposited the whole lot onto the bed. As I thought it would, the bed sunk even lower, and I grew concerned that the entire thing would collapse. Fortunately, though it groaned several wincing cricks and squeaks, the frame held its place. I breathed in relief; at least I needn't to worry about falling through the lower floor, which of course would have been a tragic ending to what had already been an unpleasant visit.

Vivian placed her numerous bags upon the floor. "I suppose they don't get too many visitors in Mahogany," she sighed.

"Or, at least, Azure Cross doesn't get too many visitors," I added.

Vivian shook her head and, kneeling down, pulled out from her bag a pad of paper and an envelope. It appeared to be a half-finished letter. She sighed and crossed out a passage on the paper. "It looks like I'm going to have to tell Rhea the truth on what I think of this place, despite it being her homeland. I can't believe she would actually want to live in a place like this!"

"Naturally, she has been dishonest about Mahogany," I commented with, for no particular reason, a wry look on my face. "I cannot imagine why. Would Blackthorn be like this?"

"I would assume so," replied Vivian. "After all, this is Northern Johto. Why she lives in such a place is beyond me."

I shrugged. "Perhaps your sister is seeing someone. Love sends people to extraordinary places, you know."

"I _know _that. Still, this place gives me a feeling far from home. I daresay Ms. Willow's estate is anything like this."

"I wouldn't be remotely surprised," I completed, sitting on the edge of the bed while Vivian finished scratching out her message to _Ms. Rhea Walton, of Blackthorn_. Rhea Walton…Vivian Walton…they are two sisters who originally grew up in Pallet, a small town in southwestern Kanto. Their father owned a shop that sold refined goods such as mirrors, gowns, and antique furniture; their mother was a professional trainer and an ambitious collector of many Apricorn, which she then sold for outrageous prices. No doubt this had some influence on Vivian's liking for adventure. My own father was a coordinator, though he was better at fleecing other people of their possessions during his travels (nothing I would be proud of, of course). I always somewhat suspected him to be part of the infamous Team Rocket, though my mother never liked to speak of such matters. She was a doctor at the Viridian City Medical Center, and I assumed it was the close association with a staff of Chansey that gave her such a kind heart. Therefore, she rarely spoke of my father, even after his eventual death for whatever reasons I don't know about.

How I met Vivian is a strange matter in itself. Even I had to ponder the happenings behind it as I gazed upon my wife. The absolute front of her auburn hair somewhat resembled that of a Vulpix, seeing as it triangulated down the center of her forehead in a similar fashion. The rest of her hair, other than that, was long around all sides. I mention this because of the fact that I met her in a restaurant in Cerulean that happened to produce many lit candles. A waiter had the carelessness to misplace one particular wax dangerously close to her hair, and I happened to be passing at that exact moment, where then I used my hands to smother the flame. I suppose that was the turning point for both of us (and the waiter—he was out of a job).

At last, Vivian finished her letter. "I'll leave it with the clerk and see if I get him to deliver it to the mail service," she said.

"_If _this town is fortunate enough to even have mail service," I chuckled. "Come, we'll bring it downstairs, and then we'll see if we can see if the dinner hours are still open."

Vivian smiled and sealed the envelope. Making sure to extinguish the lantern before leaving, we made our way back down to the reception office. The clerk was shouting something about "damned rodents" in his office, and I had to exercise the use of the bell to call his attention. He stormed out of his office with snarl. "Yeh—yeah! Wha' the 'ell ye wan'!"

I decided it was best that I hand the letter over to him, as supposed to Vivian. "I was wondering if you would be able to send this letter to the corresponding address?" I said firmly, though somehow voicing my statement in the interrogative voice.

The clerk snatched the letter from hands, squinting at the address imprinted on the front. Finally, he muttered. "Fine, I'll get it to th' pos' ser'ice in th' morn'. There's ain' no chance ye ma'ing me to sen' I' no'."

"That is fine," I receded. "Just send it as soon as you are able to…please."

"Ye ain' ma'ing no jo'es in thi' ti'e of the e'ening. Ye know 'ow 'uch I 'ate the dar', esphecially in 'imes when weir' c'eatures come ou' teh p'ay 'n the streets. An' that damn'd lady won' lea'e us alone wih' 'er en'hantments. You be'er sta' in'oors or el'e som' th' of oogin."

A blank expression from me was, again, the most appropriate response I could muster. I nodded slowly. "Th-thank you, sir," I stuttered. "Just send that letter when you get the chance. Have a good evening."

The clerk turned and returned to his office, scratching his unshaven face with the sealed letter and muttering something about "nee'ing mar sher'y an' bi'cuits." As soon as he was gone, Vivian and I, now badly needing some refreshment, stepped our way through a side door that read "Dining Room."

Imagine our surprise when we saw that the room was fairly spacey, and not nearly as filthy as the other rooms in the entire hotel, or town for that matter. There were about a dozen tables in the room, and each was lined with white linen and napkins. Vivian breathed in awe, and I simply stared from one customer to another.

"Here to eat, Madam and Monsieur?" asked a waiter who seemed to have materialized out of nowhere.

I came out of my brief daze. "Well, why yes, we are," I stumbled, still trying to understand the impossible logic of finding a clean space in the middle of such a dingy town.

"Then follow me, sir and ma'am," said the waiter, motioning towards a table in one corner of the room. We sat down, and Vivian turned her head in several directions, examining the contents of this room with widened eyes. A menu lay at both ends of the circular table, and I at once picked it up.

I unfolded the menu, briefly glancing across the meals. "I'll have the Oddish- and Chikorita-leaf salad, to follow with a roasted Farfetch'd and new potatoes. And a half-bottle of Charlemagne brandy."

The waiter produced a pad and scribbled the order before asking graciously, "And what shall the madam be having this evening?"

Vivian softly smiled, not quite convinced that we were still in Mahogany, after all the odd occurrences over the last few hours. "I shall have the pan-seared Goldeen and the Kingler-meat salad. Mineral water, please, to drink."

The waiter tipped his hat, bowing courteously before retreating into the kitchen.

For a time, the wait for dinner was rather agreeable, and we amused ourselves by listening in on surrounding persons' conversations. None were very interesting, except for maybe one or two—one in particular, which would chase around my mind long after our visit:

"Are we in fair order for the transaction, Nathaniel?" said a gentleman with black hair, garbed in travel clothes and a cape-like overcoat.

The brown-haired gentleman chuckled, sipping red wine from a glass. "On the contrary, we are in perfect standings for the upcoming deal, Jonathan."

The one called Jonathan folded his hands together and smiled. "Do speak!"

"It is interesting how these things occur, how discoveries are actually made," continued Nathaniel, relishing every moment of an apparent success. "But it is irrelevant. What matters now is to get the mini-keg to our dear friend, Dr. Von Steichen. A simple deal: he gets the revolution in manmade medicine, and we get 75,000 Pen each, not forgetting our fees owed to Mr. Cromwell."

I sat up a little straighter and motioned to Vivian for silence.

"I find the whole matter exciting," he said, "to be in service of this sir. We collect for him specimens he needs to become world-renowned, and we get paid well for it. We shall depart for Blackthorn just as soon as the market fair is over."

Jonathan pondered the scenario for a moment. "But couldn't we just claim the discovery for ourselves?"

Nathaniel took this as an opportunity to sigh a long, melodramatic sigh. "We've been through this many times, Jonathan. The less we are connected with these medical substances, the better off we are. Besides, should the unlikely occurrence arise that any _particular_ persons confront us, we won't be at the top of their suspect list. As you know as well as I, it took certain…illegal hands…to move these mini-kegs into our possession. I wouldn't doubt," he added with a wry look, "that to be convicted of compounded theft here in Johto is jail time of fifteen to twenty years. I, of course, will take the twenty-year sentence, whereas you will take the fifteen-year imprisonment. But I can confidently say that neither will get us back to Hoenn with terrible swiftness. And your wife and children won't take too kindly upon hearing such news…"

"Leave them out of this," grumbled Jonathan, his previous smile shrunken down by about an inch. "I promised them I would return successful and wealthy, and through our involvement with Von Steichen, I intend to fulfill that vow."

Nathaniel shook his head sympathetically. "Ah, you and your vows. You're almost as wretched as the Captain of Celebi. Wouldn't it be better to be poor and content, reunited with your family, as opposed to being rich and dissonant, separated from those you care for? Is it the letter or the spirit of your intentions that matter?"

"At least I keep contact with them!" snapped Jonathan. "And the last time I checked, you've failed to communicate with your own wife over the last two years—my Lord, she's going to believe you dead!"

From my view, Nathaniel appeared to be undaunted. "Now, now, let's not get overexcited," he chided calmly. "I'll be seeing my wife again just as soon as you see yours. There is no need to spoil a perfectly good acquaintance over this matter. I assure you, after this last deal, we shall evaluate our total assets and hop aboard the nearest ship, and away we'll be! Over the waves, over the horizon, into the sun, and soon enough, we shall touch the happy shores of Hoenn. We'll have sufficient funds to maintain both our families for many years to come."

For a moment neither man spoke, their eyes locked in an uncomfortable silence. Vivian and I as well exchanged glances; the atmosphere in this dining room was rather unpredictable. I shan't point out the various contradictions that these business dealers had spewed, but listening in on this conversation was slowly dulling my appetite while sharpening my mind.

Finally Jonathan, apparently wanting to move the conversation from these dangerous waters, muttered in a flustered sort of way, "What you said—the Captain of Celebi—comparing him to me—who is he exactly?"

Nathaniel's old smile returned, seemingly cured of the inflated tension. "Curious, are you? Then I shall tell you—but then again, I'll assume that you've never heard of the Story of the Sea Captain? The navy man who could not swim, despite the fact he had the capacity to do so and no external physical disabilities?"

"No, never," responded Jonathan, also smiling now, but probably for politeness sake.

"Of course you wouldn't. For an account based on history, it is a strange tale," nodded Nathaniel, taking another sip of wine. "But that poor soul was supposedly hard pressed with his sailormen. This occurred briefly after the Battle of Wingulls, a sea battle between the Triad of Celebi troops and the fleet of the Rocket Empire. You do know about the Trio of Celebi? Three regions—Kanto, the Orange Isles, and this Johto—rising against the tyranny that was the Rocket Empire?"

Jonathan settled back into his chair, making himself comfortable for the upcoming lecture. "Who doesn't? It's global history."

Nathaniel continued, speaking flawlessly. I wondered if the whole reason he bothered telling this tale was for Jonathan's entertainment, the burying of a previous conversation, or merely because he liked to spout his apparent expertise on world history. "Already it had been a bloody battle. Some three hundred Celebi ships had already been blasted to bits, and the enemies had released a troop of Growlithe across many others, setting fire and inevitably capsizing them.

"We were fated to lose that battle, as it happened, despite the fact we would win the war some years later. This captain, foreseeing such an occurrence, took a coward's move: he pulled out the ship he was on and abandoned the remainder of his fleet, sailing out into the deep ocean.

"Naturally, his men wanted to stay and fight it out to the death, but some demon seemed to have possessed the captain. He desperately feared for the safety of his life, and he seemed to be willing to go to any length to prevent losing it. When asked by his troops _why_ he refused to fight, he merely replied in an eerie tone, his gaze far away, across the starless evening: 'Because I must. My word is my soul. And my word is to never rest—I must avoid death at all costs.'

"The sailormen pressured him, but he would give no indication of his motives, why he must cling to life as he did, why he must be so ignoble to his homeland—he lived here in Johto, by the way. But whatever efforts he made to save his life were sadly wasted."

Jonathan's eyebrows rose. "Oh? Why?"

Nathaniel smiled a crooked grimace. "Some haunted accident set his ship on fire. As the story goes, there wasn't enough space for one person to escape on the rowboats. The entire crew could leave the ship safely…except for one. Take a wild guess which person his sailors decided to leave."

"Him?"

"Exactly," completed Nathaniel. "They left him to burn on the ship—and they knew he couldn't swim. As his men rowed away from the devastation, they could hear his anguished wails in the distance, crying curses of his men, his homeland, and the entire world. Eventually they were extinguished when he supposedly jumped into the water, where then he drowned.

"Why they did such a horrendous act is not clearly known. Many people say that it happened because of his cowardice to fight in battle, others say that it was his 'vow' that always involved keeping himself alive, which probably spawned much annoyance to his comrades, and still others insist that they left him to die because he was…different."

"Different? What do you mean by different?"

Nathaniel stared off into space for a moment before answering, as if he himself was trying to figure it all out. Or perhaps it was for added effect. Finally, he spoke: "There's no historical evidence to support my theory, but he was a funny character—he separated himself from everyone else for hours at a time, and no one would know why. He also spoke weirdly during that time, locking himself in his cabin and telling people to go away in some foreign dialect—almost unhuman, some folks might say…. Overall, he might have been a rejected being, and according to the superstitions of this lovely little Northern Johto, he was a demonic soldier who was to be destroyed."

Jonathan afforded himself a dark chuckle, glancing at the space around him. "This _is_ a very queer place, is it not? I think this region is at least three hundred years behind the development of all the other countries in the world. I mean—" He lowered his voice now, as if he might insult the townsfolk. "—The people here avoid many specific places in the region, and they are determined to avoid having any contact with certain…excommunicated persons. Not to mention they tell great tales about demons, astrology, and strange beasts that are half human and half…well…"

"I know," murmured Nathaniel. "But I find relating the Story of the Sea Captain a much better pastime than discussing local beliefs, much more haunting. I say, leave these people to their ideals. After all, they can't in any way affect us…" To my displeasure, his eyes quite unexpectedly turned towards Vivian, where there they rested for a while. Even she looked surprised, despite the fact that she had turned her head away. "As for other people," said he, much more slowly now, "they would want to take extra caution. Love is a fickle thing when it is depraved…and generally it is the most innocent that are the first victims…"

Nathaniel's eyes remained on Vivian's face much longer than I would have liked. Almost at once, my desire for eating had vanished. Seeing as I found another man staring at my wife most impolite, I gestured for Vivian to follow me, and she did so without further persuasion, flicking away a strand of her auburn hair. We exited the dining room, and I received that nasty feeling that the two gentlemen were staring at us intently. (I, of course, was curious to know why? Was it because they knew we were listening to them? Probably.)

"I felt very uncomfortable back there," she commented as soon as we were out of earshot, back in the cramped reception room.

I was relieved that I did not have to explain myself to Vivian; she seemed to have picked up on that odd man—a wily businessperson without a doubt, but still an odd man. I spoke calmly and simply: "I understand. That man lacked manners. A great storyteller and collected speaker, but still mannerless. Come, let us return to our room before something else happens."

When I had said, "Before something else happens," I had obviously meant, "Before we witness something else disturbing and uncalled for during our stay in this strange town". Indeed, all I wanted to do now was to get upstairs and enjoy an evening's rest before departing to Tenebrosa—and I sincerely hoped my client's estate was more refined than where we were at the present moment. Personally, I couldn't stand another minute of Mahogany. I looked into Vivian's eyes and I could see that she felt the same. And to think her sister lived only fifty miles away, in Blackthorn!

We reached our room without incident. Almost immediately Vivian settled into bed and with a good night on her lips, she fell asleep. I, however, though I managed to lay down in bed and examine the shadowy shapes all around the tiny room, I realized that sleep was a hindrance. No matter which way I lay, I felt this unprecedented restlessness crawling across my abdomen. Over time, the dull light emulating from the window began to fade as lamps on the street were slowly extinguished. The seconds past, the minutes past, and perhaps even the hours past, but I stared blankly at an empty wall with no results. I tossed and I turned, pulling the torn blankets in one direction and then another, but again, nothing to my benefit. (Vivian, through all of this, somehow remained peacefully asleep.) I myself could not sleep. Something, whether a mental ailment or a bodily malady, prevented me from rest.

Crawling out of bed, I paced the room several times, wondering why I was unable to sleep as I normally would. Already I could hear my wife breathing deeply as she dreamt sweetly, serene thoughts in her head and nothing more. It was incredibly troubling to think that I should be in such a state, but maybe most of it could be attributed to my apprehensiveness on the upcoming journey in the Johto highlands. Or perhaps I shouldn't have listened in on that duo's conversation. Somehow, the story of being trapped on a burning ship then drowning in the midst of a dark, forlorn sea disturbed me more than any warning from my upcoming client. But why would I be so worried? We weren't even on the sea—far from it. Our travels were in the mountains, the forests, and the clearings. I saw no reason whatsoever why I should be afraid of water. Besides, I wouldn't drown; I remained a skilled swimmer. Yet the whole scenario needled my heart, made me fear the unknown, an unknown that, despite its absurdity given the unlikely landscape, drew me away from the water, and rooted me to elevated land.

I leaned by the inn's window, trying to process it all. Finally dismissing my worries as superstitious influence and anticipation of my upcoming business venture, I breathed a deep sigh, which, though it helped calm my beating heart, didn't quite shake off the strange silence, a deathly silence associated with the sea. I shook my head, resolving to myself that all means of future travel would be done on land and on land only. At last I felt slightly better.

I gazed through the dusty window, across the streets, slumbering dwellings, and closed shops. How strange the stillness of the evening hours, as if nothing longer existed, no life present. It was quite unlike any other cities I had visited, which always bustled with human activity, even in the earliest of hours. It was not a hopeful silence, either—on the contrary, it felt incredibly like a desperate quietness, a restless sleep, an uneasy watch, anxiously waiting for the dawn. A foreboding sweep across the city, as if only the dead would dare walk in the roads. How appropriate it was, considering my own restlessness. Indeed, as I looked once more across the city intersections my sight lingered on one particular street corner, by a dimly lit lamppost. I squinted into the darkness, the distant lanterns and waxing moon failing to provide sufficient light for me to perceive great details.

A figure stood on that street corner, and from what I could see he was smartly dressed in a gentleman's coat, buttoned down and complimenting his dark pants and wingtips. His face was the complete opposite of his proper attire; he had a pained savagery deeply creased into his forehead, and he appeared to have no mouth—if he did, it was nothing but the palest of lips. He was too far away for me to properly examine his black eyes, but I did note his seemingly unwashed and bearded cheeks. He never moved from his place, and for a moment I thought his expressions to be of stone. In fact, he might have been an animated corpse had it not been for the occasional nod from his head. His eyes fastened onto the distance and darkness, nothing that I could see from this inn's window. But I needed not open my window and crane my neck, for the thing he was staring at responded to him. It slowly strode into my view, its head low and obedient—a Ninetales. But each of its tails was drooped, dragging behind upon the cobblestone, its pace reluctant and reserved. It seemed to be in good health, nevertheless: its fur was not thinning, nor did its posture appear disheveled. It merely walked with a grudging air, as if it would give anything to be anywhere but by the gentleman's side.

A certain grievance arose as the creature approached the man, stretching far beyond the pits of hell, one that would make even the dead wail in their rest. It was almost a trance of sorts, squeezing the breath from my lungs where I stood, despite my safety several stories above. Was I witnessing a surreal power at hand? Or was I losing my sanity over this long journey? I could not break my eyes from this uncanny but seemingly harmless reception, yet my brain felt torn between logical reason and unexplainable abstract. An anguishing paralysis had seized me.

It was an unusual sight in the hushed night hours, especially in a city like this. A savage gentleman and a Ninetales found on an isolated street corner? It made little sense, seeing as Ninetales are an aristocratic breed, found only in well-kept manors and castles—hence their reputation as medieval creatures in certain fairy tales. While one side of my brain was filled with this curiosity and attempts for explanation, the other half of my brain cried out warnings of ghosts, ill favors, and primitive superstitions that I had believed when I was a youth. Whether my mentality had shifted into one mode or another, I did not get to ponder on this long, for whatever light remained on the lamppost extinguished without warning. It vanished as if some invisible hand closed suddenly around the flame, smothering it into the darkness.

At once my mind freed from its uncommon state; I found myself able to think clearly once more…to a degree. I strained my eyes, but to no avail—I could see nothing. To my shock, however, in less a moment's passing, the light immediately returned, brighter than it was before, the flame erupting as if the tiny lamppost couldn't possibly hold the flares. The glass container shattered as the flames billowed atop the lamppost, leaping in angry tongues.

Even more, the savage gentleman and the Ninetales were nowhere to be found. They had gone from the street corner in an instant, so quickly that they couldn't have had time to run from that spot, no matter how swift they may have been. I looked up and down the streets—no brutal gentleman. I glanced from intersection to alleyway—no Ninetales. They vanished like the flame had only a few moments ago, melting into the darkness like apparitions do.

Finally deciding that I was weary enough to sleep, I pulled myself from the window and settled into bed, where Vivian continued to sleep soundly. How I then wished I could sleep with ease, as my wife was always able to do. I pulled the covers up to my chin, undoubtedly juvenile, and feared every corner of my room, every shadow that stirred, unnerved by these recent supernatural (or so I thought!) occurrences.

I closed my eyes and murmured incoherently to myself, turning about in bed, trying to find comfortable rest. But an ill fate for me, for I would sleep no more! That strange scene tormented my dreams, and for a greater portion of the night, I imagined I heard the coarse cries of a fox somewhere in the distance.

* * *

And that is that: this is the end of the first chapter. Please post a review if time permits (as it should, seeing as you took the time to read this story). Should this fan-fiction continue, or shall it die right here and now? There are many twists, many characters, many transformations, and many, many woes that will be established as this story proceeds. Please post you replies.

- A.G.M. Mendelssohn


	2. Renarde Jacques: Chapter Two

Mr. Jacques has entered the medieval-like city of Mahogany, and he promptly receives an uneasy feeling as he walks among the superstitious folk. Even as he witnesses the supernatural "savage gentleman and the Ninetales," his worries increase ten-fold, and he claims to "sleep no more". But may his broodings increase as he and his wife continues their way to Tenebrosa? Very likely they will. And with this said, the second installment begins…

Please read and review, seeing as comments, suggestions, and criticism are rather useful to a writer.

* * *

**TENEBROSA **

**_By A.G.M. Mendelssohn, 2006 _**

**Chapter Two **

* * *

_From the documented perspective of Renarde Jacques—_

I awoke to the sound of rain pattering on the rooftop—or rather, I awoke to find my face drenched in water, partially thanks to a few severe leaks in various flaws of the wooden roof, but also due to the perspiration that made my forehead slick. Blinking owlishly, clearing the groggy sleep from my eyes, I pulled myself from the stream of rain pouring through the cracks, and tossed myself over the sunken bed. Afraid that I had disturbed Vivian, I looked up, and I realized that she was not in bed. The covers were drawn back and the place where she had laid was empty. She was nowhere in the cramped room, and after a moment of reflection, I assumed that she had gone down to the lobby and let me sleep in. Sweet girl…but she probably left because of the chill that had filled this space. Through the dusty window, grayness poured inside and raindrops collected on the panes, gathering and flowing across the frame. With the poor design of Azure Cross's architecture, there came significant drafts from beneath the floorboards and through the gaps in the walls, establishing a cold and grim atmosphere on these morning hours.

I dressed in a thick sweater and travelling coat, and, deciding that today was not the best day to be wearing dress shoes, I put on my leather boots. I strode over to the window, and glanced outside. Strange, I thought. Despite the undesirable weather, heavy rain, strong wind, and whatnot, people still set up shop all over the streets of Mahogany. They seemed to be completely ignorant of the weather, to be honest, and they still sold their wares and goods as if it were yesterday. Their supplies would be absolutely ruined, and then what? Where would their business go from there? I couldn't figure these people out, except for two possible conclusions—superstitious and dense.

And yet through that window, I couldn't help draw my mind upon that Ninetales…and that savaged gentleman I had seen merely hours ago. Why was it that I glanced around the room uneasily, as if the duo would suddenly ooze from the wall like a pair of moaning ghosts? I was nervous, true, but why couldn't I realize the reasons? Why would I need to fear a white fox? Why would I need to fear a common man? Obviously it was a bad omen.

I shook myself—omen. _Omen. _I chided myself for nearly sinking into Johto's mire of a post-Dark Age. Omens and superstitions—those were primitive thoughts and childish fears. Civilization in reversal could be the worse thing to ever happen to anyone, and here was I, believing wild stories, leaping upon every strange sight I witness, and growing intimidated by a mass of stunted townsfolk. It linked to my worst terror of all: to breakdown from a developed society, with my freedom ensnared from my control. A horrible thought, horrible, horrible…

I turned from the window and trudged through the door, forcing it open since it was slightly jammed, and I marched down four floors to the reception desk. I promptly detected a duel of pandemonium, complete with thrown objects, things breaking, and exchanged screams. I stepped from the stairwell, and there I found my dear Vivian, in the delicate process of pulling a letter from the clerk.

"Ye ain' go' no proofs!" he snarled, trying to yank the letter from her grasp.

"I am Renarde's wife!" she snapped, forcing her left hand into the clerk's face as she worked to keep hold on the letter with her right. "I have the right to receive that message, you imbecile!" "It ain' for ei'her o' ye!" The clerk rolled his neck around, clearing his face of her hand, struggling to get a good grip on the envelope. "If it was for ei'her o' ye, I wou've gi'en to ye!" "Lying Gengar," fired Vivian, "it's got his name on it!" "A mishprint!" 

"It's from Ms. Celia Willow, of Tenebrosa!"

"W'ong adresh!"

"For goodness sake, it's even got _my _name on it!"

"For God'shake, it ain' yers!"

"For the love of Kanto, hand it over!" I interjected heatedly, stepping forward so that the dueling would be aware of my presence. At once Vivian's fighting spirit deflated, and her eyes returned to gentle hazel ones I had more typically known; apparently, the clerk's will to struggle had also died instantly, so the letter floated in midair and came to rest on top of the desk. I went over to the desk and picked it up. Indeed, it read in fancy handwriting, _To Mr. Renarde Jacques and Mrs. Vivian Jacques, in Azure Cross, Mahogany, from Ms. Celia Willow, of Tenebrosa._

The clerk had briefly lost his nerve, and a few spiteful comments were all that he could muster: "Fi'e! Fi'e! Be a mo' on! Go li'e a cou'le Ma'eep to yer dea'hs! I never ain' don' care no more!" He huffed and stormed from reception, slamming the office door so violently that a second crack appeared in the door's bottom left pane, to match with its first made just the night before.

"And you shall die in a gutter outside your hotel," I bitterly added under my breath. I tore my eyes from the cracked door, and I noticed Vivian a few paces away. She seemed somewhat frightened, as if she couldn't quite believe that she had the ability to fight, debate, and struggle as she had done so only moments ago.

"Impressive," I said kindly. "You ought to be proud, considering the environment we are in…being able to defend yourself proves quite crucial in this place, and you demonstrated the very such beautifully just now."

She simply nodded several times, not quite ready for words. I returned my attention to the letter. I tore the seal and unfolded it.

_To Mr. and Mrs. Renarde Jacques— I hope you've enjoyed your stay in Mahogany—_

"Not the very least," I commented, grimacing slightly.

_—Surely it is different from what you Kanto folk are used to. I assure you, however, that Tenebrosa is better furnished than any village, town, or city in all of Northern Johto, and you may find pleasant company in my home. Naturally, I do not care much for the superstitious people that still exist in Johto, and I hope that humanity will take its toll for its misgivings._

_I am aware that the weather may not be in great shape when you receive this message. Nevertheless, I have come to realize that Mahogany refuses to postpone their market fair, currently taking place over this week, but I shouldn't be so surprised, seeing as the sun rarely rises in Northern Johto—and never rises on Tenebrosa. But I am not disappointed. I find the weather rather bracing. You may not agree, but I enjoy the damp and darkness, as it spurs better appreciation for cloudless beauty. I digress; I have arranged for a carriage to take you up to the property line of my estate. From there, unfortunately, you will have to depart on foot in order to reach my manor. It is almost a direct path, leading through the woodland, several fields, and a past a cliff face. Treacherous it may be, and I daresay you will take better caution than the government's agents have. I am sure you'll come to like my mansion, as it is a medieval castle that has been burnished with updated comforts._

_My carriage will arrive at approximately noon; it will pick you up from Azure Cross. Please don't worry about paying the clerk, as I have already served him his payment. Lastly, I may not be able to meet you immediately upon your arrival to Tenebrosa, as I may have important affairs to attend to—my deepest apologies. My servants, however, will have you refreshed for the time being, and I will seek to complete my matters as swiftly as possible. Once we have been properly well acquainted with one another, we will at once settle to our business. I shall be seeing you in short time. —Ms. Celia Willow, of Tenebrosa_

"A carriage…" I mused, meeting Vivian's eyes as I explained. "Ms. Willow is sending us a carriage to take us to the property line—but we'll have to walk from there. The vehicle will be here at around noontime."

She smiled, seemingly recovered from her given confrontation. "That's good," she said. "As much as _you_ care for walking, dear Renarde, I prefer convenience as my so-called 'method of travel'. It is most generous of Willow to send us a carriage."

"I agree," I confirmed in a matter-of-fact fashion, "and I do not intend to refuse. Well, well, noon…" I fingered through my pockets for a valuable possession of mine—now where was it? Ah, my pocket watch—a means of my father's inheritance as well as a timekeeper. I lifted the lid. "It is about eleven o'clock…enough time for us to gather our belongings and break for lunch."

"But you just woke up," said Vivian serenely, "whereas I woke up some hours earlier than you. In other words, I've packed my belongings already, and I've already eaten breakfast, lunch, or whatever you call it." She gestured towards a pile of luggage nestled in one corner of the room. "And perhaps you'd like to hear about a little discussion I had over my meal."

I raised my eyes to hers. "Really?" I asked, sounding slightly more melodramatic than necessary. "So what is this 'little discussion' you had?"

Vivian made herself comfortable on a rickety wooden stool. "Let's just say I had a little conversation with one Nathaniel Chaucer."

I snapped the dial shut, feeling even less chipper than I had waking up. "Oh?" I intoned airily, "So _Chaucer _is his name. And what did he have to say?"

She appeared all too happy to explain. "Well, he apologized for staring at me during dinner yesterevening. He said it so casually yet modestly, as a gentleman does. 'Madam, if you would dearly forgive me for my poor behavior last night. I hope I did not alarm you or your husband.' And his partner—one Jonathan McClancy—graciously gave us good wishes on our journey, wherever we may be going. For wily businessmen, I find them rather refined in the middle of this town."

I sighed, rubbing my forehead. "Your point being…?"

Vivian shrugged dismissively. "First impressions may be deceiving in this place."

I couldn't quite grasp what I had just heard. "What is that?"

"I said, first impressions may be deceiving in this place…that is all."

For a moment I tried to process this information. Then, after a pause, I shook my head. "Well, that is expected from you. Somehow I expected those two to be much different than the rest of this town—and do you know why? _They don't live here._ They live in Hoenn, for love's sake! Even _they _said how much they despised this place—even you admitted such comments. You were 'uncomfortable,' if I remember correctly."

"Well…" pondered Vivian. "If you were actually there to see them, you would have thought differently."

"I think not," I retorted gently, tapping my fingers across the desk. "And I haven't a clue where you've picked up this new, and previously unheard of philosophy—but there's no time for explanations." I tried to bury this argument posthaste. "Ms. Willow's carriage arrives in less than an hour, and I don't care much to keep the driver waiting."

"Very well," concluded Vivian. "Get your things packed, then."

I returned to our cramped room, where I promptly threw together all of my possessions into various containers. I couldn't suppress a grin as I fingered through my documents, reflecting grandly on memories of the past, the experiences that had brought me here today. Even I had to forget my fuming thoughts on Vivian's sudden turn towards life. Here was a title deed to a private island in Eastern Hoenn—not that I could enjoy a rich vacation, of course, seeing as it was no longer an isle, but a devastated square-mile of ocean. (The Hoenn Government had had it blown to bits with a surplus of gunpowder.) There in a pouch was a series of letters from Vivian, written before our marriage seven-and-one-half years ago, some messages being rather inappropriate for open discussion. A thick folder held notes from clientele I had worked with in Lavender, one client even being the caretaker of the town's four-hundred-year-old tower, the Heights of Rest (a burial morgue, apparently). Several medallions hung from various nooks on my suitcase, each one bearing the engraving of a mythological beast that people had widely regarded as "Mew." I believe I secured them as a momento when visiting an old excavation site in Pyrite, Orre.

A black Apricorn with a heavy crack in its side rolled from its holder, and I had to scramble in order to avoid losing it, as it was a useful tool for successful taming—though I must say I was never very good at performing professional training. I was always more concerned about the Apricorn's price and varied effectiveness—the theory behind the hands-on experience. In fact, I believed this type of Apricorn, typically called the Heavy Grain, was worth at least 400 Pen per nut. I briefly wondered, weighing the large seed in my right hand, if Apricorn would ever develop into a high-class, industrious object, forged into the most useful product trainers had ever seen. No doubt the inventor of such an item would be worth several hundred million Pen after taxes and other financial deductions. But what person, what company could even hope to enhance the Apricorn's usefulness? I could think only of a few—perhaps the Pinnacle Corporation, or maybe perhaps the newfound firm known as Silph. Indeed, I had heard that Silph, located in Saffron, was making fine success at marketing and financing various trainer tools. Perhaps they would spark a revolution in such products.

I popped from my daze—time had passed quickly. With my mind distracted with memories and information, it was some while later before I had gotten all my bags, all my files, and all my reports and records together, lugging them down the unstable stairs and into the lobby.

Upon entering reception, I saw through the lobby window that a snow-white carriage had pulled up to the street curb. Vivian, who had evidently been sitting on the chair the whole time, paid me a look that unmistakably said, "Well, what took you so long?" I also noticed that the clerk had returned. He gave me a look as if he ventured to say something, probably something in regards of payment for our nightly stay.

"Misher Jaques…" grunted the clerk, determinedly avoiding my eyes and staring at the surface of the desk as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

The best I could grant him was a firm look, not in the mood to debate over a bill. "I'm sorry sir," I interjected sternly, by now knowingly weary of this man, "but my client has informed me that she has already paid for our keep. Please do not trouble us with petty Pen."

The clerk looked up in a densely surprised gawk. "I ain' wantin' no 200 Pen par nigh'! Naw, I'd be gi'ing ye dis—"

He held up something as if he were holding a sacred relic. I examined it closer: it was a tiny wooden cross, much like those I had seen the other townsfolk wearing.

"It took meh _hou's _fer meh ta make it," the receptionist proudly huffed. At this I happened to glance at the door to his office: two splinters of wood had been crudely pried from the lintel. I stared once more at the cross: it was made of the same slivers. I allowed myself a half grin, amazed by his stupidity.

The clerk looked utterly delighted. "Lik' it, huh? Ish yers!" He forcefully pressed the tiny relic in my hand. "Ish good fer preticting yerself from th' devils and shtuff! God blesh ye morgin shtuper!"

I didn't exactly know what a "morgin shtuper" was, but I had very little time to reflect on the innkeeper's strange words or even make a reply. He had given one final laugh sounding like a knife on a dry stone, and before I could react, he had jovially marched back into his office, triumphantly slamming the door for the third time in eighteen hours, this time shattering the entire middle windowpane.

"Charming," I muttered, pocketing the tiny thing inside my traveler's coat. "Just what I need: a handy icon of superstition."

Vivian smiled kindly, standing from the chair and patting me on the shoulder. "Now, Renarde, you shouldn't assume all people to be as they are merely by first impressions. That could very easily get you into trouble one of these days…or perhaps out of it, if you ever manage to avoid being paranoid."

"A slightly hypocritical statement," I commented indignantly, trying my best to pout. "I thought you hated this place."

"I find it strange, underdeveloped, and I do not care for it much, obviously," she amended, "but I'm not talking about the town as a whole, but as people individually. You know, after a period of time, during which you come to know them. I think that man meant a rather touching gesture."

I was ready for a response this time. "You're just saying that because Mr…ah…_Chaucer_ managed to charm you with a gentleman's apology. Ah, you and your contradicting first impressions…" I grinned wryly, pulling our bags over my back.

Vivian continued to smile but said nothing; as far as I was concerned, it was the truth, but she didn't seem to be willing to admit it, or else, she probably still stuck with her theories. I mean, first impressions may not tell everything about a person, but Chaucer and McClancy weren't even part of this run-down society! Though I loved her dearly, I sometimes failed to see exactly where Vivian kept her brain. But yet…another part of me wished I had woken up earlier, just to see what this McClancy and Chaucer had said…. It was deeply troubling that they could inspire such a ridiculous theory into her head. I frowned; I _knew_ those two were trouble. They must have done clockwork on her brain…

I put such matters from my mind at the moment. After pushing open the door, allowing the way into the cobblestone street, I heaved our whole baggage into the walkway, where the white carriage waited for us. I noticed that the rain had by now stopped, and, to our good fortune, there were hints of blue in the sky.

"You Mr. and Mrs. Jacques?" asked the driver upon seeing us.

"We are," I replied, bobbing my head more times than necessary.

The driver nodded impatiently, his eyes bouncing off the people around him. "Then climb aboard." He snapped his fingers towards a back compartment. "Put your things in there. The quicker we leave, the happier off I am."

I hurriedly loaded the carriage full of our belongings, and, closing the compartment somewhat satisfactorily, I allowed Vivian into the passenger's seat, with me following.

The driver checked to see we were secure in the back seat. "Very good," he murmured, "we ride."

With a crack of whip, the Ponyta attached to the reins pulled us away from Azure Cross (hopefully I would never have to stay in such a place ever again) and down the street, parting the crowds as we went. Again the folk continued on with their strange practices: they crossed themselves, pointed at us, and yelled wild chants in a foreign dialect that I could not decipher. I breathed heavily—the last time I would have to look upon this place.

We trotted a fair ways out of the city, through the limits' gates, and down the unpaved road through the countryside. I did enjoy the nature all around me, and the blue sky cheered me up considerably. Even Vivian had to take the time to sightsee the deep ridges and grooves embedded into the mountains. Noon's hour began to pass, and since I hadn't eaten anything for a full day, I made access to a food compartment that the driver had opened for us. Several apples and a smoked Goldeen later, I as well had to admit that the whole trip probably wouldn't turn out as bad as Mahogany made me believe.

The only person not enjoying the passage was the driver himself. He kept casting wary glances at us, and I soon grew uncomfortable, not because of his actions, but because he seemed worried that he—or perhaps we, for that matter—might drop dead in a sudden blink. Indeed, he appeared to be sweltering, and I was about to ask him if he wished to stop and rest for a while before continuing, when he suddenly halted the carriage in front of what appeared to be a dense grove of pines—and nothing else.

"This is where I have been instructed to leave you," stated the driver, pulling on the reins. "You're on your own from this point on."

Vivian's face clouded with confusion as I tried to make out a trail somewhere among the pines. "But couldn't you at least accompany us to—?"

"Not on your life," snorted the driver, as if the very mention of such an idea was an act of governmental treason. "I ain't risking my neck in the untamed wilderness. Best I stay as a carriage driver and nothing more. Good day to you." After tossing our bags from his care, he waved halfheartedly, rearing the carriage in the direction we had come, back towards Mahogany. Odd, I thought. It was my imagination probably, but did he look relieved to have escaped our company? I could have sworn I saw a heavy weight lift from his rough face as he trotted back up the road. Ah, well…

It took several valuable minutes to find the indistinguishable pathway. A better description for an indistinguishable pathway would be a slightly organized trail of dirt, barely noticeable to the human eye. We pulled our luggage (I was starting to regret bringing so much with me on this trip) over our shoulders, I graciously taking some of Vivian's baggage, now preparing to wander down a trail that led to who-knows-where, hopefully our destination.

"We'd better get a move on," I commented, drawing my eyes above the trees; I couldn't help but notice the increasing amounts of clouds gathering in far-off skies.

"Then let's go," Vivian urged impatiently. She enjoyed glum weather just as much as I did, and she appeared anxious to reach Tenebrosa before we could get caught in a torrential storm. Obviously, since I was apprehensive, too.

We carefully meandered on the dusty path to Tenebrosa, weaving in and out of the thick branches of various dead pines and fallen limbs of dying elms. I don't believe it would be necessary to describe, but the woods we trudged through gave me an uncertain feeling. I don't know if had to do with the fact that everything we passed was otherwise wilted or withering. Leaves fell slowly across our tread, and they dryly crushed when we stepped on them. The sun was no longer present, since a fixed overcast hovered above the trees and ground below. In addition, a thick haze had settled in the space, combining with the clouds to obscure our vision even more. Luckily, I had brought a lantern with me, and I wasted no time flaring it up. Unfortunately, the light it emitted merely reflected off the mist, and though it helped us see what was directly in front of us, it didn't give us a full view of whatever was in the distance.

Unappealing noises scattered throughout the forest, and it rather bothered me that all I could think of was Vivian rambling along about being "deceived by first impressions." Well, good may come from ill things, and ill may come from good things, but from all the unpleasant sounds teasing the extent of the woods, I very much doubted we would stumble upon something pretty and fortunate in such a place.

The first shock that nearly made me jump was when a loud stick cracked from behind us. I spun around, nearly dropping my whole cargo, to see what had made that noise. I peered into the distance to see…

"It's just a Raichu," I muttered, taking a deep breath to settle my heartbeat.

"A Raichu?" questioned Vivian, also turning from where she stood.

Indeed, an oversized rodent was returning our stares from behind a tree. It kept great caution, however; it wouldn't dare approach. I preferred it best that way, as I didn't really wish to deal with upsetting the creature and getting myself electrocuted. But it was a strange stare that the Raichu paid us; one would almost expect it to convey to us a message, as if it were here for some intentional purpose. But apparently not, as it soon turned and sped off into the mist, its long tail rapidly following.

"Adorable little things," Vivian said with a sigh. "I never would have expected them to be living in a place like this…"

We continued our walk. The minutes grew into hours, and, wondering how much time had passed since we began hiking towards the manor, I fished my pocket watch from the inside of my traveling coat. I frowned as I squinted at the dial—it was getting quite late. Five o'clock…it was late afternoon. Just how large was this estate? I remembered Ms. Willow saying it was two hundred something acres, but it felt as if we had been walking for miles now. Vivian eventually called to me: "Perhaps we should take a break now, Renarde?" I paused from my trek, pondering the idea. Yes…a short rest would do us some good, and we could collect our bearings before departing again.

But before I could reply, a deep sense of foreboding had me in its clutches. I didn't hear it immediately, but a foresight seemed to communicate with me: I could feel something nearby, and it was not nearly as gentle as a Raichu.

"_Hound—!"_

Vivian gasped a terrified yelp—I wildly jerked my head behind us, rapidly scanning the area where that sound had come. Horrible noises: I could hear growls, menacing tones that made the hair on the back of my neck prickle and my spine feel paralyzed down to my legs and feet. I stared wide-eyed into the fog, into the dark pines that heralded unknown creatures. Should a pack of horrible beasts emerge from blackness and tear my dear Vivian and me to shreds? My fears were instantly confirmed, for a group of no less than a dozen Houndours revealed themselves from behind various trees. The black dogs were by no means a placid bunch: they bared cruel fangs, their eyes merciless, and they propelled themselves back, as if to spring for our necks. They began to draw in, closer, closer…

I swallowed, my heart pounding in terror. We now faced foes stronger than we were, so what would we do, what desperate act we could make to save our lives? I could up with one solution; my instinct came at once: to run, to escape, to hide.

I pulled Vivian towards me. Half our baggage went flying. We turned and sped into the trees opposite the wild dogs, branches scraping us as we ran. We panted, diving in and out of the thick limbs tearing at us, and we agonized to hear the disturbing of the soil from our pursuers' paws. Rocks lined our path, and many we leapt over; others we struck. Indeed, there was one particularly unsavory moment when Vivian shrieked an anguished wail, for I heard her smack her ankle upon what sounded like a misplaced stone…with a sharp edge.

It seemed like an eternity, and we could feel ourselves growing tired—we could not continue running for much longer. The wolfish Houndours were not about to let a free meal go, for I still heard them in the trees behind us—yet I could also hear something else up ahead. It sounded like flowing water, a river…

I was correct: a lapping river, set in a ridge only several feet below us. My eyes followed it up and down, watching it flow on either side of the forest like a dark straightway.

Something fiery flew past my head—an Ember attack. I glanced back—the Houndours were close. I looked at Vivian, terrified from her mind, then back at the river, frothing here and there in quiet ripples.

At once my decision was made. I took a giant leap forward, pulling my wife by the palms.

I clenched Vivian's hand as we tumbled into the waters below. We submerged and reappeared atop of the surface. The rest of our luggage had flown over us and splashed into the deep, where they inevitably sank into the bottom of the river. I could still hear our predators sniffing, investigating the place where we had flown, and the creatures howled angrily when they could not find us in the river. We drifted with the current, Vivian clutching my shoulders, and at a long last, the cries of Houndours began to fade into the mist.

I couldn't trust myself to pull up onshore immediately, for I feared that our pursuers would catch up with us again. It wasn't until we both began chattering our teeth, for it was by no means a warm climate, that we handled the edge of the banking. I climbed out of the water, then pulled Vivian up from the surface.

"My…God…my…God…" she gasped, gripping her chest. "That was terrifying…my…God…"

"At least we escaped," I replied tiredly. "Broken up quite badly, but with our lives." I cursed myself for the sudden turn of events. Less than five minutes ago we had been well on our way for the biggest business venture we'd ever see; and now we were running around with torn and wet clothes and lost belongings. I cast my bearings all around: it was getting dangerously dark for travel, and worse, I began to fear that we were somewhat lost. We were completely soaked, all our belongings (I would have pounded my head into a tree if I had the strength) were otherwise dropped or lost in the river, and I had no idea which way to go to find Tenebrosa, much less to find help.

I squinted into the failing light; there was a slight gap in the trees, leading across the field and up a cliff area. It was a bright feeling to actually see something besides trees and the close surface of a river, even though it was rather short-lived. I envisioned for half a second, examining the ridge that rose like some grim and glorious ladder into the sky, a meager Paradise leering on the top. I somehow knew that climbing this rock face would lead to our destination—well, "knew" would be a tad of an overstatement—rather, I trusted. I trusted a guiding hand behind me, lurking somewhere in my deepened mind, and it seemed to urge me forward, that despite our sudden losses, we would be safe at the top of the rock face. And besides—I reminded myself carefully now, allowing my reason to overtake my instinct—we would be able to have a better view over the estate, maybe over an entire side of Northern Johto. Imagine the possibilities!

"Up there," I said to my wife, pointing slightly disorientated towards the tall ridge across the field. "We'll find refuge there."

Vivian looked unsure, now revived from her recent soak. "But it's just a cliff…and the climb looks a bit…unstable. Why would we need to escalate and endanger our lives…?"

"Believe me—we'll be safer there." I offered my arm to her, and she reluctantly took it. We staggered across the field, getting buffeted in fog, rising winds, and an iron sky as we crossed. Several times we had to unstick from unseen sinkholes and they overall ruined our footwear quite effectively. By the time we had reached the base of the ridge, mud almost completely coated our feet. A trail weaved through the rungs of the ladder-like cliff, and I could see that by hiking side-to-side on this ridge, we would easily reach the top in no time.

It was an error on my part. Apparently, the rocks and boulders were very weak, and they were in danger of triggering a landside that would probably not only crush us but the entire mud-field below. The trail wound dangerously around the jagged edges, and it wasn't helped with the low rumble of thunder in the distance. It made my heart ail in regret to hear Vivian whimper as she gazed across the potential drop that either of us could suffer.

It was one stroke of luck for us to reach the top of the ridge right when the rain decided to fall in a violent sheet. It was discouraging to stare into the thick haze—I could barely see beyond the expanse of the cliff, and the approaching darkness made any far searching nearly impossible. My newfound optimism died instantly. We stood upon a barren ridge, right in the path of a storm, and there was absolutely no sight of any landmark that could help us. I examined the area around us carefully—but no matter what I would try, I could not make anything out in the tempest-like clouds and distance.

"Oh, Renarde—look!" Vivian pointed towards the columns of darkness, excited by something she had seen, despite her weakness.

I couldn't immediately grasp what I saw in front of me. Could it have been an illusion, some nasty trick of the mind? Or could I have been mistaking it for a murky cloudbank, a surreal shadow made by the wind, rain, and lightening? I strained my eyes into the distance. No, Vivian was correct. There was indeed a monstrous structure positioned in the dark and distance, for I saw several dim lights coming from various windows. It was rather incredible: many spires rose menacingly into the sky, and they were lined with battlements, some which were broken. A variety of windows fixed themselves on the walls, some as tall as a steeple, others circular and quaint. And the dark stones, doors, flying buttresses, pedestals with statues, and well-made ledges and mantles rooted together the castle that I knew to be our destination—Tenebrosa loomed before us, perhaps taller than any other architectural edifice I had ever seen.

"Well, it's about time…." I smirked in spite of myself. Grasping Vivian by the hand, we ran headlong towards the manor, keeping our faces downcast in order to avoid the precipitation from smacking us across the eyes. We reached the iron gates surrounding the outer rim of the garden and, finding that it had been left unlocked, flew past the ingress, slipping through the wet grass and tramping up the stone pathway. The lightening and thunder certainly gave us a better incentive to reach the building as swiftly as possible.

At a long last, we reached the massive double doors that separated us from the interior. Both of us completely drenched and shivering, I dropped my madam's hand and pounded on the door. An unorthodox way to make an entrance, and certainly a poor way to give one's client a good impression, true, but after escaping untimely death for about the third or fourth time, neither Vivian or I were in the mood for the niceties.

"Is anyone in there?" I called up the castle's front, as if anyone inside would actually hear me. "It is Mr. Renarde Jacques, along with his wife, Vivian Jacques! We have arrived on Ms. Celia Willow's request!"

For a few moments the rain continued to beat down over us, with no response coming from within. Then, to our relief, a click came from the doors, and they opened to clear our way through the entrance. A woman's voice came from the inside of the manor: "Welcome. Please come in."

We hastily stepped into a spacious foyer, lit by many candles and torches. The woman closed the door behind us, locking it once more.

Vivian and I spared a few seconds to catch our breath, panting as we were, completely soaked and worn from our journey. I tried not to think about our luggage, probably somewhere in the Blackthorn River by now, and what I would do since half my important documents were contained in those cases. I looked up at Vivian, to make sure she was still in good order. She appeared to be fine—her eyes were closed, her chest heaving, and she brushed away excess hair from the triangular style on her forehead. Aside from the gash on her ankle, which I guessed would be attended to eventually, she would certainly live another day, as would I—we were merely tired from walking, running, and climbing, especially through damp and dreary weather. Not that the inside of the castle was exceedingly humid, either. Actually, it was brisk and cold, all of the heat escaping through the walls. I couldn't suppress a brief quiver, rubbing my arms to produce warmth.

"Mr. and Mrs. Jacques, I assume," moved the lady who had opened the door.

"A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Willow. And I am happy to be of your service," I addressed her graciously, extending my right hand.

The woman issued an amused and taut smile, solidly shaking my hand. "And I would be the manor's nurse and household head, Ms. Joy Gaudium. Our Mistress is unable to be present at the moment, as I am sure she had told you in her note."

I met the nurse's acquaintance, gazing over from what I thought was a warm handshake to the owner of Tenebrosa. She had deep blue eyes, a straight and obedient expression that seemed to be permanently frozen into her features. Somewhat reddish hair ran in thick strands along each side of her face. She overall had a bit of a fair visage, her skin untainted, I found such details quite uncommon for a mere housemaid—then again, she was dressed in everyday servant attire.

"Indeed," I quickly replied, withdrawing my hand. "My apologies, Ms. Gaudium. We have had an unpleasant travel in reaching this place, with the rain and such…." My voice petered off, as I felt somewhat sheepish in mistaking the identity of my client.

Ms. Gaudium bowed a servant's bow. "Pursued, were you?" she prompted, examining my pant leg, torn from the wear of our recent chase.

"Er, yes, as matter of fact, we were," I said somewhat uncertainly. "A pack of Houndours gave us bit of a frightful reception upon entering the estate."

The nurse refused a change in emotion. She folded her hands over her chest. "I am not remotely surprised. Tenebrosa heralds many dangers, and there is nothing much Ms. Willow wishes to change. She has an ailment in keeping up with the rest of civilization. In a sense, you may refer to Tenebrosa as a 'world away from the world,' as very little has changed since our Mistress came to inherit this place."

I observed a tag, shaped roughly like the risen sun, clipped on her chest, illegible due a thick coating of dust. Knowing well that certain mansions had their staff entitled with their name and length of employment, I ventured to ask, "Have you been working here long? How long has Ms. Willow owned this place?"

Ms. Gaudium seemed to ponder an answer for moment before replying, "I have worked here longer than our Mistress has owned Tenebrosa. I came here when I was a young girl, and thereafter I have been in the lifelong service of the Willows. That is all I shall tell you." She said this as if it concluded all other inquiries. It appeared she didn't take very well with questions.

"Very well," I conceded, and Vivian, who had sensed an uneasy presence cast over us, threw me a sidelong glance, pleading with me to refrain from asking any more questions.

"But we shall have to tend to your refreshment—madam, you are injured," she pointed out to my wife, referring to the slight cut above her ankle.

Vivian looked surprised, trying to cover up the wound. "Oh, no, no, I am fine," she responded. "It's only—"

"An injury that I will need have a look at," completed Ms. Gaudium in a no-nonsense fashion. "I shall first take you upstairs to the nurse's quarters and then bring you to your room. You, sir—" She now returned her attention to me, "—must warm yourself by the fire; the eastern lounge has an ideal hearth, where there you can restore yourself. Come along now, Mr. Jacques. Wait here, madam, I shall return for you in a moment," she added to Vivian, bowing as she did.

Motioning for me to follow her, Ms. Gaudium escorted me down several halls and to a lounging room. The halls were incredibly medieval-like—not that I shouldn't have been surprised, as Tenebrosa was clearly a medieval castle—made of carefully fitted stones and designed with a continued display of Gothic architecture. There was ribbed vaulting down the long length of ceiling, and many windows, though fragile, were large and elaborate. Once, I believed we passed the entrance to a chapel, where the inside was infused with windows made of brilliant stained glass. The corridors were tall and spacey, lined with tapestries and suits of armor, torches flaring at set intervals among the walls. Indeed it was rather breathtaking, despite the obvious details that everything appeared to be dusty and covered with damp, as if the staff had failed to keep up with their cleaning duties. True, it was beautiful, but it was a poisoned sort of beautiful.

As we entered the eastern lounge, Ms. Gaudium turned in her stern and shabby fashion and briefly stated her hospitality: "Please make yourself comfortable. Feel free to warm yourself by the fire, as I have no doubt that you've had a rogue voyage in getting here. Madam Vivian shall join you at dinner. Dinnertime is at half past seven. Do not be late, as it would be a troubling inconvenience for me to go and fetch you." She said this simply, as if it this were a practiced conversation rehearsed a hundred times before, and she spun quickly to leave the room.

Obviously not satisfied with such stern orders—for her tone, though she had a gentle voice, was far from hospitable—I politely asked, "But when shall Ms. Willow be returning? I look forward to her acquaintance."

Ms. Gaudium faced me slowly, and her lips pursed in a lemon-like grimace. For a nurse and household head, she had a rather unworldly fire burning in her dark blue eyes. She spoke again in a deceivingly calm voice. "Our Mistress, mind you sir, shall also meet you at dinner, and she as well looks forward to meeting your acquaintance. Our Mistress owns Tenebrosa and holds it well in her power. I daresay you ought to be aware of your mannerism during your visit, as our Mistress does not take impoliteness too kindly. For instance, she cares not for an abundance of questions, unless she obliges the command to do so. I suggest that you complete your business here and leave as soon as possible. Ms. Willow has a tendency to be…temperamental…and that generally leads to a series of unpleasantness."

That commanding tone snuffed out any other desire remaining to interrogate about the castle. I just nodded and said, "Well, I…well…thank you, Ms. Gaudium."

The nurse allowed an incomplete smile on her face, and she returned to the door, saying quietly, "You may refer to me as Joy. And one more warning: as I have a feeling you are an adventurous person who tends to turn up in places most forbidden, I must inform you not go wandering about the castle. Our Mistress has several private quarters, and she does allow any visitors within unless she gives the word. In addition, we have viscous security patrolling certain corridors, so exploring Tenebrosa without a resident by your side would be most unwise. Do you understand, Mr. Jacques?"

I nodded once more, thrown by her ability to speak. "Yes, Ms. Gaud…Joy. I shall wait here until dinner."

"Good," concluded Joy, her eyes never leaving mine, "and I do hope you enjoy your visit." She bade her exit from the room.

Shivering slightly, I wearily strode to the solitary armchair positioned in front of the fireplace, settling into it. Finding a quilt lining the seat, I wrapped it around me, and I stroked the glowing coals with a poker. At once the fire leapt up again, warming my hands quite nicely—or rather, scorching them, for they were almost engulfed in the flames. I sighed and drew my gaze to the expanse of the lounge. It was about as comfortable as a dark castle could get. The only sources of light were the distant lights from the hallway torches and the hearth in front of me. Shadows stretched across the room, and the blood-red carpet lined the stone floor. A large window facing the east was thick with rain and occasionally a spark of lightening, and a wooden table just below the sill held a weaving of some sort, though it looked as if it hadn't been spun for a while.

Perhaps what attracted my eyes the most were the many portraits hanging on the walls. None of them were very appealing, since the subject always had a scowl or haughtiness etched into his or her features. Their cold eyes held prominence in the room, and they all seemed to be fixed on me, sitting in the chair. Lightening and thunderclaps intensified the figures' tall and straight sophistication, their hands folded aristocratically, but it gave the impression of a hidden rage contained in their dark eyes. I also managed to glimpse several tarnished brass plates beneath some of the paintings. _Abigail Willow _was an ancient woman with a thin, pale mouth, and her eyes were squinting in an almost oriental way. _Alphonso Willow _was a thin man, and judging from his proportions, I assumed him to have been a tall and wiry fellow. _Frederick Willow _was somewhat swelled in size, and he sported a thick mustache that matched fairly well with his black eyes. Looking from one painting to another, I by now assumed this to be a common trait among the Willows—they all had very dark, ethereal irises that blended almost perfectly with their pupils, and every one of them retained a hardness and a strange hold on whoever stared into them. I peered around the room for the mention of _Celia Willow_, but to my great disappointment, there was clearly no portrait of her in this room. Well, I dismissed unconcernedly, perhaps there were more paintings in other rooms, and my client just wasn't here in the eastern lounge.

One portrait, however, hung significantly apart from the others. I looked carefully at this one, but then I noticed that the brass plate bearing the name _Peter Willow _had nothing but shreds of canvas streaked across its frame. Someone had violently slashed the painting with what—and I shuddered to think about it, pulling the quilt around me tighter—appeared to be strong claws. The deep gashes bore a resemblance to a Houndoom's paws, and the very thought that such a creature should be lurking in Tenebrosa gave me the chills.

"_Chansey chan."_

"_Pichu."_

Imagine my fright when those voices broke the silence of thunder and rain. For a moment I thought I had heard the howls of a Houndoom, and already unnerved by being chased by a whole pack of its kin, I cringed and shut my eyes, expecting sharp claws to shear through my throat. But then I cognized that they were not voices of anything viscous—actually, they were a naturally bouncy voice and a tiny squeak. Opening my eyes, I pulled the armchair around to face the open door, and I saw before me a Chansey and a Pichu examining me curiously from the entrance. They were cautious; they held onto the side of the wall as they peered at me, so that they could withdraw their heads should I unexpectedly come and attack them—not that I would, of course.

"Well, hello," I called softly. "What are you doing there?"

The two detached themselves from the wall, and they came beneath the lintel, so that they were in full view of this unfamiliar spectator sitting the armchair. They seemed to ponder whether to approach or not, but even as the Pichu stepped towards me, the Chansey held it back, scolding it in warning-like chastisement.

_"Pichu, pi? Pi, chu-pi?" _asked the little mouse to the Chansey, cocking its head in my direction.

_"Chansey chan-chan, sey…" _The taller creature, pale pink and vaguely egg-shaped, replied somberly, and I found it somewhat dramatic that she (for I knew that all Chansey were she's) should point directly at me, as if I were not to be disturbed for any reason. But then followed a quietness, in which they both stood, staring at me, just staring, and nothing else. Finally the Chansey sighed and shook its head, paying me one last glance as she took the Pichu by the paw, leading it from my presence. The Pichu continued to gaze at me, its expression alert and large ears erect, even as the pair vanished into the shadows.

Pulling the thick blanket even more tightly around me, I turned my head from the entrance and stared for a while at the bright embers of the active hearth. At a long last, I began to feel the fatigue settling into my body. It was reasonable, after all, considering the fact that we had recently marched through the deep woodlands, slogged through mud-filled fields, gotten drenched in the constant rain, climbed up dangerous rock faces, and been chased by a ravenous pack of Houndours. Settling into the comfortable armchair, the crackling of wood and flame a soft melody to the ears, sleep overcame me then. The heavy torrents continued to beat outside the windowpanes, and the uneasy gloom continued to linger over the entire space of Tenebrosa, as if there was an unseen danger lurking somewhere in its depths. But I withdrew such thoughts from my mind, and, tilting my head slightly forward and trying to forget the unknown dangers that could harm dear Vivian and me, the warmth of the hearth welcomed a brief peace to fill the restless silence.

* * *

There ends this chapter, the second of many more. Very soon, Mr. Jacques shall finally see the face of Tenebrosa's mistress, and then…what could happen then? Alas, this tale has barely begun… Please post a review if you have the chance. 

- A.G.M. Mendelssohn


	3. Renarde Jacques: Chapter Three

The following three installments are perhaps the most critical to the entire plot. We are rapidly approaching several revelations, including the meeting of Ms. Celia Willow, the "loyal Servant" by her side, the true nature of Tenebrosa…and perhaps, if we are lucky, what is to be the fate of Renarde and Vivian, whether fair or ill.

Please read and post a review once you have finished.

* * *

**TENEBROSA **

**_By A.G.M. Mendelssohn, 2006 _**

**Chapter Three **

* * *

_From the documented perspective of Renarde Jacques—_

But the brief peace was indeed _too _brief, for my perception of time had become dreadfully short since my entrance into the eastern lounge. I must have been merely dozing, for when I awoke again, nestled in that armchair by the hearth, I immediately sensed a lack of time's passage. Everything seemed to be exactly as it was when I had first nodded off: the blood-red carpet, the rain spattering upon the window, and the stern-eyed portraits of the Willow family icing the hairs on my neck. Perhaps the only difference in the lounge was the fireplace itself—it had died down to a few dim coals and a pouchful of ash.

Squinting wearily and sitting up from the chair's cramped space, I felt around for my watch, padding the insides of my traveller's coat (still drenched). I sincerely hoped that I didn't lose it, as I had treasured it very dearly throughout my days. Nothing in one pocket…here, a tiny wooden cross on a leather cord…there, a pocket book, tragically stripped of its bank notes…and, ah, the watch. Placing it on my palm, I lifted the golden lid, wrapping the minute chain around my index finger. The dial, amazingly still working despite its journey through the various forces of nature, displayed its time: twenty-eight minutes past seven.

_I'm late—almost._

I leapt from the armchair, concerned that I might miss the beginning of dinner, which would be a rather poor impression to send to Ms. Willow. Vivian would soon be concerned about my whereabouts, and I daresay Joy would be none too pleased upon my tardiness.

"_Chan, sey sey…"_

A voice brought my eyes to a nearby wall, near the ruined portrait of _Peter Willow. _My vision focusing, I realized it was the pale-pink Chansey I had seen a little over an hour ago. She stared intently at me, apparently having come here with a purpose in mind, seeing as she had waited for me to wake up.

"Ah, back are you?" I breathed slowly, having thought that there could have been something considerably less placid in my presence. I anticipated the intentions of her arrival: "Have you come to escort me to the dining hall?"

"_Sey." _The Chansey nodded.

"Very well, then," I resolved, approaching my guide, who had then moved from the wall to by the door. At least I knew I wouldn't be late, now that I had someone familiar with the castle by my side. "You may show me to the hall."

The Chansey raised one hand, almost completely absent of digits, to my arm, and with a thin mouth and a pair of bead-like eyes, she began to lightly tug me forward, leading me through the corridors to Tenebrosa's dining hall. I obliged, letting the creature guide me wherever it cared to go, since, after all, I knew very little of the castle's complete floor plan, except that it was very extensive and prone to swallowing up the unwary visitor.

We started down one of the several many passages of Tenebrosa, my Chansey guide wobbling as she walked in a bouncy stride. Her eyes darted nervously left and right, as if we should unexpectedly chance upon a Dragonite or anything else potentially dangerous to our well being. My euphoria of getting to the hall on time quickly faded; the more nervous the Chansey was, the more nervous I would become, multiplied threefold.

A sudden movement beneath one torch caught my eye, stirring in the passageway up ahead. The Chansey halted in her place and yelped a panicked squeal, dropping my arm. She began to edge behind me, and I, remembering well of Joy's terse cautions regarding the castle's security, tried to back up as well—instead almost tripping over my pink-hued guide. The Chansey bounced from her place, now grasping my arm and seemingly willing me to return in the direction we came. I was more than happy to obey such a wise decision, for _whatever _it was before us, it seemed to keep its presence to the shadows, avoiding direct torchlight, and stalking craftily against the walls, towards us.

In my haste, I misjudged my footing, and this time I succeeded in tripping over my guide, who responded by letting out a surprised yell.

It stepped from beneath the torch, emerging out of the shadows. It strode in a careful, deliberate pace, and my shock nearly paralyzed me when I realized exactly what it was before us. The creature came to rest at the direct center of the hallway, sitting upon its haunches, each of its long tails splayed around its body, its white fur pure, well-groomed, and shining. It was all too familiar to be unrecognizable: a Ninetales.

I experienced bad memories, reminded of a certain pair of ghosts back in Azure Cross. Clearly, that savaged gentleman and the fox on the street corner had tarried in my mind long after my encounter with them, since the new creature succeeded in adding to my rising paranoia. I scrambled to my feet, backing away from this fox.

It made no motion from where it sat, merely examining us through its cunning eyes. Finally, it coolly vocalized a word of its language, that is to say, the only word of its language:

"_Ninetales…" _It spoke as if it were offering me a graciously calm greeting. On the surface, it had appeared to be a placid call, but I perceived deep in its eyes a mischievous, wry look, reflecting the nearby torchlight. It could have been a mere speculation, since I knew that these nine-tailed foxes were notorious for their "knowing" stares, smug looks that could make a person feel rather uncomfortable. But with my witness of the _other _Ninetales, the one accompanying the pallid gentleman with a ravaged face, I felt horribly different in encountering this particular creature. I was not about to take any wild risks with anything before me: something ill was about this fantastical canine, and, apparently, the Chansey by my side felt in a similar way.

"_Chansey!" _She huffed, eyeing the Ninetales with a most alarming expression. She grabbed my arm and again made a vain attempt to pull me back from our new arrival. _"Chan!"_

"_Nine, nine…" _The fox sneered, its wile never failing its features for an instant. It smiled at our fretful emotions, never approaching us so much an inch, and it beheld a triumph in making us as fearful as we were. It poised no mood for an attack, yet it scared me more than any pack of Houndours could—perhaps more so than even a century of them! Those eyes, and that leering smile on its sharp-snouted muzzle—indeed, no man could ever meet such deception in a creature!

"Now, now," soothed a floating voice in the darkness. "There is no need to worry, Mr. Jacques…Ninetales only attacks when I command her to do so—of course, by then, an intruder's life becomes most unpleasant thereafter…"

I spun about, looking for the source of that voice. A young woman emerged from where she had been standing, looking rather amused by our fright. Strange thing about her entrance; she seemed to had materialized from thin air.

"Ms. Willow?" I ventured cautiously, still keeping one eye close on the Ninetales. The Chansey guide breathed a tired sigh, apparently relieved to see her mistress in our presence.

"I am," she replied simply. "And you are financial associate who I summoned to my estate, Renarde Jacques, am I correct in saying so?"

I shook her hand somewhat apologetically. "Yes, I am Jacques. I am pleased to be of your service, Ms. Willow."

Willow went around to where the Ninetales continued to sit, the Tenebrosa mistress's pace passive yet solid. For a moment she said nothing, gently petting the fox's soft fur, the creature responding with affection. It licked the mistress's hands, and it came close to her feet. Willow turned to face me, standing tall before me.

"I'd be careful with this Servant if I were you, Mr. Jacques," advised Ms. Willow, folding her hands together. "I am not sure how insightful you are in the knowledge of such creatures, but it is best not to underestimate the power of nine-tailed foxes. Like most beings that roam our world today, they have elemental and extraordinary abilities that plunge beyond the shallows of what nature determines. We humans can only breathe in awe as we try to decipher the mysteries of the earth we live in—the genetics, the biology, and the chemistry behind it all. And, of course, the paranormal, the supernatural, and the mystically indefinable."

I shifted my weight from one foot to another, uncomfortable and secretly disdainful, as I always was, with talk of anything superstitious and whimsical. Ms. Willow fondly stroked the crown of the nine-tailed "Servant," so to speak, though she never broke her gaze from mine. I took this as an opportunity to study my client; I noticed now that the left side of her face was submerged in darkness, umbrageous due to its absence from the torchlight. The right side of her face was a contrast, as it was bathed in the dull luminance. Like the lights had previously done so in the fox's, dancing fire from the wall reflected in her right eye, the iris a vivid green—sharp, pretty, and dark. Her features were not quite stern, not quite pale, as I had seen amongst the other Willow portraits. Well, not quite gentle, either—in fact, she had an air of something proud and unmovable, a controlling force lingering around her—appropriate, considering her prominent status in this Tenebrosa. Indeed, she did not appear as much as I had originally anticipated her to be; I had expected the image of an old woman, stooping about with a cherry-wood cane, wrinkled and toothless. Instead, she was tall in height and rather young, perhaps around the age of Vivian and me.

Ms. Willow paused before continuing, still maintaining her unbreakable gaze. "Ninetales—nine tails—each filled with energy that can be spread to those foolhardy enough to seize one. But it is a variety of energy: energy that can restore and heal—and, of course, energy that can damage, destroy…deform. Scientists of today and of the beginning of our era have yet to unravel the secret behind such causes. Therefore, please respect the directions of this particular Servant, and do not do anything reckless while under my care. Well, then again, I suspect that you are not a reckless person, Mr. Jacques."

I made my feeble attempts at a friendly smile. Did every resident of Tenebrosa always speak with such conviction? Barely three minutes since I had glanced upon the face of my client, and already I felt belittled beyond a squashed Torchic, crunched by the eerie authority everyone seemed to have on me. "I assure you, Ms. Willow, I avoid precincts that do not concern me. I have merely come to settle your financial woes as effective as I possibly can."

"Most excellent," breathed Ms. Willow, closing her eyes. "I have confidence in you, Mr. Jacques, and I generally do not trust many people—I have more belief in Ninetales, as she is my most loyal and faithful of all my servants. Do not give me any reason to distrust you. Follow my instructions while you are here, and we will be able to proceed through our business without hindrance."

I brought my hands together and nodded. "I shall, Ms. Willow."

"Good." Ms. Willow smiled suddenly…but very briefly. "Then we must go down to dinner—we are late, as it seems. Come, Mr. Jacques, and _you_—" Her expression soured, staring dagger-like at the Chansey, who instantly blanched and hid behind my pant leg. "—Get back to the Nurse's Quarters where you belong. Do not step out of your bounds." The Chansey released my leg and scurried away into the darkness, never looking back as she fled.

"Follow me, Mr. Jacques. Take care not to lag behind…"

The Ninetales led the way, Ms. Willow following, and I in the rear. Ms. Willow looked up and down the walls and tapestries, stained-glass windows, torches, and she overall seemed to be studying every nook of what she knew to be home. She murmured softly as we walked, her whisperings lingering so that I could barely hear them—but I _could_ hear them. Some of what she said unnerved me, and I endeavored to piece them together: "But if Ninetales dies…if my Servant dies…how will I ever be…when will it happen…oh, do come back…must you leave again…must I…should I…how long must this go on…?" Her whispers reduced to inaudible mutterings. For a moment it brought me concern, and I wondered if my client would be psychologically unfit for any interactions of business. I had been previously worried about sending a positive impression to Ms. Willow—yet now I began to sense a negative impression sent from Ms. Willow to myself. It was not an overly agreeable feeling. But soon, her mutterings ceased altogether, and I dismissed her strange behavior when I saw a light up ahead.

It was a door at the end of the passageway, opened a crack so that a bright light from the other side shone through. Ms. Willow calmly pushed the door all the way open, allowing us to enter.

I inhaled suddenly: on the other side of the door was a dining hall of great size. Chandeliers glowing with very many candles hung from the ceiling. More tapestries lined the walls, and they were imprinted with great designs dating from early periods of a medieval era. Indeed, they kept heat within the room quite effectively, and it was useful considering that the floor itself was bare of any lining. A balcony and two sets of stairs on either side served as the overseer of the hall, situated at the end of the northern wall. Finally, in the center, a wooden table, already served with meals and delicacies, held two people who already waited our arrival. Joy stood by the table, apparently having had a talk with the other, who was none other than my own dear Vivian.

"Well, it is about time," murmured Joy, as I followed Ms. Willow and her Servant to the table. She took her seat at the head, and I sat opposite of her, to the left of Vivian.

"Ms. Willow," I offered Vivian's acquaintance, "This is my beloved wife, Vivian. Vivian, this is my generous client, Ms. Celia Willow."

"A pleasure to meet you," said both parties with much politeness, though I may have detected a slight air of unease as Vivian was introduced—but merely my suspicions.

Her wound was bandaged up—it appeared that Joy had done a good job with fixing her up. "You look better, dear Vivian."

"Thanks," she replied, smiling. "It wasn't a serious wound after all. I'm just glad you made it. Ms. Gaudium seemed to think—" She held me tenderly by the hand; indeed, she looked as if she had been set free from a prison cell, well relieved of her worry.

"Excuse me, Mr. and Mrs. Jacques," interrupted Ms. Willow with a little cough, her green eyes showing a hint of disdain. "As much as I am glad you are reunited after a mere hour's wait, please do not display your romance in my sight. I find it a most troubling subject, and I will tolerate for none of it."

"Our apologies, Ms. Willow," moved Vivian, sitting back down.

Ms. Willow cleared her throat, apparently having an opening speech prepared. "I welcome you both to Tenebrosa. You are welcome to stay as long as you will, and it is a pleasure of you to be addressing my estate, its value, and the means that I may salvage it from governmental hands. We shall work in three phases: we shall evaluate all my documents and records in connection to the estate, travel a bit around the property to appraise each object of value, and, after you have met my entire staff, come up with a strategy to remove Tenebrosa from the Law's suspicion. Do I make myself clear?"

Obviously her opening speech had shifted from addressing Vivian and me over to just me alone. "If that is our order of business, Ms. Willow," I responded, surprised that she had already arranged an itinerary, "then we shall gladly proceed in that manner."

"Excellent," concluded he mistress, satisfied by my confirmation. "But now come, let us eat—you've had a long journey. Do come—eat!"

A rack of Mareep and roasted vegetables consisted was what mainly consisted of the meal. Wine was held in several skins, and fruit served as a supplementary, gathered in bowls set around the table. Vivian ate with precision; Ms. Willow ate with refinery; I may have stuffed myself with good manners. Ms. Willow's mood was a strange one: one moment she would be conversing with us pleasantly, commenting on how the weather was or the history of her estate, and another she would be barking orders to Joy, who immediately obeyed, though almost in a grudging manner. Ms. Willow looked even less quieted by Joy's showing attitude, and at several points she seemed to be on the verge of telling the housemaid off for behavior—of course, I found it no reason to do so, as with the money the mistress probably made, Joy would be getting rather large wages at the end of each day. Once every dish had been empty, every morsel eaten, Joy moved to collect the dishes from our presence. I took this as an opportunity to inquire on a rather important matter:

"How many documents do we need to sort through, Ms. Willow?" I asked.

"I keep all documents in my bedroom, which is dually connected to my study."

"Then how much paperwork do you have in your possession?"

"I…" Ms. Willow thought for a moment. "My _entire_ bedroom is filled with papers, notes, and such. I would say about seven hundred folders worth."

I almost fell from my chair, astounded by the number. "Seven…seven hundred? But if you really have that many documents, Ms. Willow, we would need a large space just to be able to organize these without mingling them all together!"

She pondered the scenario at hand, tapping one finger on the arm of her chair. Finally she managed, though she lowered her voice considerably, "If it must be so, Mr. Jacques, I will gladly allow it."

"It will help, indeed. We could be here for several years if not…"

"Hm," mused Ms. Willow, turning her attention to the household head, who had returned from the kitchen carrying a tray of what appeared to be oversized pastries.

"Joy," she stated, her commanding voice returning in her features, "I would care very much if you could arrange the western library as a place of business, somewhere where my transactions can proceed without interruption—by tomorrow, preferably."

A spark of resentment flashed briefly in Joy's eyes, exulting her expression from her usual state. But when I blinked, her typical character had returned. "With all due respect, Mistress," she said, trying to speak without emotion, "I believe such a task can be handled under the direction of Hale, and I am sure Benny will not cause much of an interference. After all, Hale has authority over much of the staff; together, they can complete the rearrangement in almost no time at all…"

"I am perfectly well aware of that, Joy," replied Ms. Willow with a serene sternness, "but hard work would be most bracing for you. You will clear out the library—it is not a difficult task—and you will do it without the aide of Hale, Benny, or anyone else. Oh, you _will_, Joy," her gaze hardened, "and I will know if you did. Otherwise…" My client's voice trailed off, not bothering finishing her address to the nurse, instead turning back to me. "I do apologize, Mr. Jacques. My servants are not of the most cheerful variety…"

I could have sworn Joy gritted her teeth as she rather forcefully set down the tray (it was some sort of strawberry-cheese turnover) and slunk back to a wall, waiting for her Mistress's next order. I felt a tad sympathetic, and Vivian seemed to feel the same.

"Now, Ms. Willow," she chanced, "it is not necessary to provide extra work to Ms. Gaudium if—"

"No, Mrs. Jacques, but thank you for expressing concern," Ms. Willow interceded, smiling again. "It is better Joy knows her status in life. She is the household head, and I expect her to undertake what I dictate."

"But—this Hale and Benny?" I as well tried to relieve Joy of her rigorous workload. Indeed, I hadn't seen any other resident in Tenebrosa besides Joy Gaudium and Celia Willow, and I was somewhat intrigued to hear about them. "Surely they could—?"

"They cannot, Mr. Jacques, because I will not allow them—Joy will do what she must do, and I will take no surliness whatsoever from any of my employees." Ms. Willow pronounced this as if it wholly ended the conversation, and as she glanced from me to Vivian to me again, her captivating stare deflated any desire to argue further.

We ate in silence, the tension holding over us like thick mist. Ms. Willow made no difference in her facial expression, but even so, I could since an unpleasant feeling lingering around us. The only distraction Ms. Willow had was to pay her Servant a sideward glance. The Ninetales, apparently aware that her mistress was watching, lifted herself from her resting position, and, stretching her limbs, the vulpine creature edged slowly around the distance of the oaken table. She circled us in an orderly fashion, making us feel uncomfortable as clinked our knives and forks, and even the savory flavor of our meal's dessert could not dispel the unease that this creature provided for us. I very much willed that Ms. Willow was not displeased with us, as I remembered well that she had, to quote, "a nasty tendency to be temperamental." Therefore, once every plate was devoid of pastry, I, wishing to trouble Joy and Ms. Willow no more, moved to provide my closing statements for the evening.

"It was an excellent dinner, Ms. Gaudium, and we thank you again for your generosity, Ms. Willow. But perhaps," I added, graciously standing and offering Vivian my hand, "we ought to be retreating to our sleeping quarters, as we have much to attend to in the morning."

Ms. Willow smiled, with something incomprehensible in her deep green eyes. "Leaving so soon for bed, Mr. and Mrs. Jacques? Well, perhaps it is for the best. We have already discussed our order of business for tomorrow, so I see no reason why I should force you to stay awake any longer. Off to bed then, and good night."

"Thank you, Ms. Willow," said both Vivian and I simultaneously. I began my stride towards the door—I was, in fact, walking towards just a door; I had no clue if it would lead to our bedroom or to a labyrinth of hallways where we would inevitably get lost, but I found it best to remove our presence as quickly as possible. Ms. Willow could enjoy a nice rest, and perhaps she would be in better spirits in the morning. I picked a door, one just to the right of the Ninetales, and went towards it, moving at a pace that outstripped Vivian by several yards.

But as I passed the Ninetales, by my great misfortune, one of her tails happened to linger in precisely the place I ventured to set my foot down. The fox cried a dreadful yelp that made my spine stiffen and ears strain, though, as it happened, her revenge was instantaneous, since I then fell headlong into a well-positioned tapestry of what appeared to be an array of knights.

Vivian seemed to be alarmed, and she went rushing to my side; Ms. Willow also looked alarmed, but it appeared to be more for the well being of her Servant as opposed to me; Joy, on the other hand, had a complete break in her fixed obedience, now replaced with an expression of upmost horror. Vivian and the household nurse helped me to my feet, a tad unnecessary considering that I was already staggering to an upright position. The Ninetales, however, curled close to her mistress's feet, and Ms. Willow, though she fired me no glare of accusation, had a look of deep concern, perhaps slightly too melodramatic given the overall circumstances.

"Do be careful, Mr. Jacques!" Joy exclaimed in an almost scolding manner, holding me by the arms to steady my balance. She gave fearful looks to both the Ninetales I had crossed and me, almost parallel to those that the Chansey had given earlier.

"Are you all right, Renarde?" asked Vivian with much worry.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," I responded somewhat incoherently, rubbing my cranium from the impact. "It's just a knock to the head, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing strange."

But then, even as I spoke those words, something strange _did _happen, and even in the later hours I had difficulty explaining it: my right leg, the one that had trod upon the fox's tail, splintered with an unpleasant sensation, as if it were being pricked with very many pinpoints. The pinpoints themselves felt unlike the way one would feel when his leg becomes insensate; rather, it had the tactility of a thousand tiny matches, each one lit and instantly put out upon contact with flesh. It wasn't an excruciating pain, but it brought me enough discomfort to make me stamp my feet here and there. It didn't quite help as I hoped it would, as the feeling persisted even after a few stomps. (I did, however, earn myself a few odd looks from both Vivian and Joy.)

"I apologize about that, Ms. Willow," I offered, standing up straight and trying to ignore the aches in my right leg. "I am not in the greatest brim of stamina and precision, I'm afraid, and I hope I didn't cause any harm to—"

"That is quite all right." Ms. Willow dismissed my apology with a quick wave of her hand, and she smiled reassuringly. "It'll take more than a tail to cause permanent damage to Ninetales—after all, they have a famous life span of well over a thousand years—and I just pray that you watch your step when strolling around the manor, as you could be susceptible to great hurts."

I awkwardly returned the smile as she continued: "But now, it is getting late in the evening. I advise you to go on to bed, as we shall address the value of my assets in the morning." She said this pleasantly but clearly in a very declarative tone—I wouldn't dare refuse.

"Good night, Ms. Willow," I said, inclining my head in respect. "I shall be up early tomorrow, and from there our business may commence."

"And to you, Mr. Jacques—Mrs. Jacques. Ninetales, come," she called to her loyal fox, who at once followed her up the balcony overlooking the hall. They moved with a majestic air, as if we were being treated to the fanfare march of royalty. Vivian exhaled as if she had been holding her breath for the last hour or so. As for me, the pressure in my chest, my nervousness, had shrunk several segments the moment they were gone.

The only one not the least bit comforted by this resolution was Joy. She appeared more troubled than I had ever seen her since our arrival to Tenebrosa: she checked my cranium several times for injury, looked me up and down for cuts and scrapes, and examined my right leg for a time longer than one would have expected. In fact, one would almost expect her to believe that I would suddenly explode, crumble into dust, or do anything else most fatal and unnatural right before her eyes.

I smiled kindly, though I couldn't make much of her sudden wealth of concern. "Really, now, Ms. Gaudium," I stammered, standing even taller than what my vertebrae could warrant. "Really, I am fine! There is no need to worry about—"

"Please, Mr. Jacques," interrupted the nurse, holding up three fingers for silence. I slackened my tongue, and instead of protesting further, I settled for exchanging a few uneasy glances with Vivian. Finally the household head, evidently satisfied in her inspection for the moment, stood up and brushed herself off. She looked me directly in the face with her dark, blue eyes, and she spoke firmly. "If you at all experience any injuries or _anything _at all during your visit, please do not hesitate to find me in my chambers. I am on the sixth floor, in the southeastern wing—that is Nurse's Quarters, as you wife knows well—" She cast a sidelong glance at Vivian, who at once nodded hurriedly. "—Go there at once. Do you understand?"

I nodded as Vivian did, bobbing my head as if my neck's tendons had become rusted springs. "Yes, yes, yes of course I will—I mean, if anything did happen anyway—I won't hesitate to call…." I sputtered my words as if I had just learned how to talk not ten minutes ago.

"Good," concluded Joy, sweeping one strand of reddish hair from her eyes. "I am glad we are able to understand each other. Sleep well tonight, as I have great expectations that you are going to undertake a lengthy meeting. Mrs. Jacques knows your bedroom—fourth floor, south side. Good evening to you both."

"Likewise," Vivian replied. I could not quite bring myself to words, so I continued my repetitious nodding. The housemaid bowed once more and strode from our company, moving swiftly as one does when fleeing an army of Grimer.

"This way," said Vivian, leading me by the hand to the nearby stairway. "Ms. Gaudium showed me to my room earlier this evening, after tending to me in the Nurse's Quarters."

I followed, happy in a sense that we were now apart from our other company. Vivian led me through a different doorway, leading up into the great unknown. We ventured escalated a gradual staircase, absent of any rug or lining, various decorations and suits of armor setting our guard. We made several right and left turns, passing the worn corners of the stone walls, and I took the care to pull upon the handles of numerous doors that stood in our way. Evidently some passages were lighted better than others, seeing that at one point we had to grope around in the darkness to find our way around. Luckily, we always found another nook before giving ourselves up for lost. Eventually, we crossed a more spacey section in which the third set of stairs jutted out abruptly over a small room below, and beneath a balcony that had been constructed above.

_"We'll meet again, young one…and when we do…"_

What was that? That voice? I lifted my gaze as we passed the third stairwell. My eyes followed up the curves and niches of the walls, the underside of the balcony above us, and through the endless banisters and railings. The stained glass windows remained fixed in their frames, the rain and lightning continuing to fall upon Tenebrosa. The torches and lanterns stretched numerous shadows through the entire space in which we were walking…but I could see nothing out of the ordinary—merely dust and darkness.

"Did you hear that, Vivian?" I called wearily, still wide-eyed and unconvinced that we were in fact alone on these stairs.

Vivian paused, glancing over her shoulder. I would not forget the concern that lingered in her eyes; she, too, looked as if she expected me to suddenly drop in an untimely dead. "Hear? I heard nothing, Renarde…are you sure you're feeling well…?"

"Sh…" I whispered. "Listen."

Several seconds of silence—the voice spoke no more. The torches' flames crackled, the wind beat against the castle, and nothing else stirred. Finally, I dropped my suspicions, somewhat abashed.

"Must have been my imagination," I muttered, and Vivian, who by now looked thoroughly spooked, paid me one more worried glance before continuing to ascend the stairway.

I sighed, still trying to shrug off my suspicious thoughts, and without any more words spoken or heard, we reached our sleeping quarters in the southern bedroom.

The room was fairly comfortable at a first glance: it was furnished with various chairs, carpets, and wooden desk and dresser. There was a solitary window embedded on the southern wall, which would no doubt give us a clear view over the expanse of Tenebrosa during the daytime, and another hearth lined the eastern wall, already stroked and crackling merrily. A bed, recently cleaned and made up, posed as the centerpiece of our sleeping quarters, with several posts supporting it, draped with curtains as a finishing touch. A few other curiosities and knick-knacks were arranged in fair order around our room—here and there a crystalline paperweight or ornament sat upon the desk, a clock, ticking loudly with rhythmic ease, was the pride of the mantle, oil lamps hung on hooks or jointed with stands to keep the space bright, and perhaps the most striking off all was by the fireplace itself: a great collection of books filled the large columns of bookshelves.

Vivian went over and sat on the bed, testing its durability. "Charming," she commented, "it's a far cry from Azure Cross."

I smiled. "But of course, dear Vivian. We wouldn't expect Ms. Willow to have us stay in the dungeon, now would we? As she and I are now business associates, I daresay she would at least try and make her guests comfortable."

Vivian looked up, somewhat resolute. "And I find difficult to see who's actually in charge of your meeting: Ms. Willow seems to give us more _orders _than suggestions, as if we as well were servants of her manor—"

"She _is _my client, Vivian."

"But…" Vivian sighed depressingly, her shoulders slumping. "The way she treats her staff members—"

"Staff _member_," I corrected her, remembering that Joy was the only one I had seen who served Ms. Willow, aside from that Chansey and the Ninetales.

"It is as if they weren't even human," she continued on, plainly overruling my statement. "And to think, you to be in service of such a woman…"

I paused, somewhat pitying her inner turmoil. "I am sure Ms. Willow is more than you see," I reassured her kindly, one hand on her shoulder. "What is it that you said about first impressions? First impressions could be deceiving in this place? Well, I may agree with you on such matters—I just hope you didn't forsake your newfound philosophy all _too _quickly…"

For a moment, Vivian said nothing, obviously brooding over her own thoughts. Finally she sat up. "You are probably correct, Renarde," she amended tiredly. "It's merely that this castle in general gives me an uneasy feeling." She looked at the window, still streaked with rain and lightening. "We've been welcomed graciously into Tenebrosa by our hosts, but Tenebrosa, almost everywhere I look, is far from welcoming! The banisters, the shadows, the passages, the whether—my God, the weather! And your recent injury doesn't make me feel tremendously better, either; Ms. Gaudium frightens me as much as Ms. Willow does! All I wish is that we leave this place with our mentality and lives intact."

A slight tremor in my chest raised my affection for Vivian while making me feel even less fond of this manor. She had suspicions of this place, just as I had; she held fears and worries for our safety, just as I had felt. Her words disarmed me completely. I smiled.

"We'll be fine…I believe. Ultimately, I daresay that this place will find rest in the end, despite the disquiet we see now."

"I hope so, dear Renarde," she replied, laying back in the bed and returning my affectionate gaze. "I hope so…"

Vivian yawned subtly. For a moment she stared off into space, reflecting over her thoughts and suspicions once more. Finally, she tuckered into bed without much of another word, except for a "good night" and a look of gratitude.

I sighed. To banish away all my anxieties would be a blessing to me, as, while it made me love Vivian more, it pained me to see her in such discomfort. Her ankle bandaged up, true, but it was her nervousness that truly made me lament. If only I would get rid of my own suspicions and fears, perhaps she would feel better.

The mantle clock continued to tick and tock the time. I for a while watched Vivian as she drifted off to sleep, indicated by her soft breathing, her eyes settled in her own brief peace. Once I was sure she was asleep, I decided, still wary yet restored somewhat by my earlier sleep, to pass the time doing something productive. Obviously I wouldn't be able to organize through my paperwork or any other of my possessions, since our personal items had been irredeemably lost. (I made it a point to mention this to Ms. Willow in the morning, preferably during a lull in her mood.) I could use some paper and a pen to write out my planning for tomorrow, as well as any useful tactics for my client, but then I figured that I wouldn't be able to come up with any definite value until I've actually seen the entire estate. (But at the moment, just the castle manor alone must have been worth at least ten to fifteen million Pen.) I drew my eyes to the bookshelf. A book…better… Reading seemed to be a better option for finding relaxation in this place.

"_Gone forever…"_

I looked up. It was another voice—or was it? It was unlike the one I had heard in the stairwell: the first had been a calm and knowing sound, this one was raspy and deep. My imagination perhaps? I struggled to dismiss these strange occurrences to my own mentality, not liking the idea of falling victim to another collapse of refinery. The ghostly gentleman and the grudgingly obedient fox were bad enough—but two supernatural visions over a span of two days…! I looked around once: there was nothing out of the ordinary in the room from what I could see. I shook my head and approached the bookshelf, admiring the many volumes, which were at this point beginning to collect dust.

"_Another soul…"_

I quickly glimpsed over my shoulder, but the space behind me was still empty, _indeed _empty, nothing but dull light from the passageways. A deception to my ears it was, and nothing else. I returned my attentiveness to the bookshelves.

I examined the many rows of books, fascinated by the great selection of titles that waited before me. Shelley and Byron, Coleridge and Keats, and very many manuals and treatises of various philosophers were among the selections. They were all very old editions, with thinning binding, the hard covers of different faded colors. I eventually made a choice and removed a book from the shelf. I looked at the title on the front, tiny golden lettering spelling out the heading, _The Odyssey_. An adventure epic—I had decided it was an ideal read for something that both Vivian and I were experiencing at the very moment.

I strode more swiftly than normal over to the chair by the armchair, not as comfortable as the one in the eastern lounge, but an armchair nevertheless. I flipped open the ancient-looking cover slowly, dust rising as I did, I slowly began to submerge myself into the tale, reading the yellowing pages.

"_Hale and Benny—stay here for the evening…otherwise…"_

I ignored the voice—a different voice. I instead focused on the text before my eyes, reading rapidly and glossing over the verses. My breath began to shallow, my heartbeat increasing immediately. I swallowed once, then twice…

"_He's up there…but leave him be until…"_

A deception to my ears—and nothing else! But my patience and temperance was rapidly waning, and another onslaught of sounds broke my tolerance completely:

_"They have finally arrived…it's about time, too…"_

"_Have mercy, Willow! It was all Conrad's doing…!"_

"_The traitor will return…and if this place is invaded…I'm afraid that we'll…"_

"_She is trying to stall the process, bless her soul, but they won't last until dawn…"_

My attention snapped from the book. My ears were not in fact deceiving me—there were voices all around! I fretfully scanned the room for intruders, moving from one corner to the next—but there were none. Vivian was already asleep, and she breathed soundly and sweetly, her arms tucked beneath the pillow. I chided myself again and again for my paranoia, settling back into the chair and returning to _The Odyssey. _But I needed a fail-safe, something else to distract my mind.

Thus, before continuing, I pulled out my remaining possessions from my pockets—watch, wooden cross on a leather cord, and a book, appraising each and wondering how exactly I was going to value everything on Ms. Willow's property without the use of my files, records, and extended documentation. Well, I thought, putting the watch back in my pocket, tossing the empty book on the nightside table, and (absentmindedly) stringing the cross around my neck. It could be much worse, after all: we could have gotten severely injured, or we possibly could have died. I sighed, listening briefly to the mantle clock ticking the beginning the ninth hour, the unceasing storm outside, and the active fireplace, and I settled for the comforting thought that tomorrow could prove to be a better day than today. I turned another page of Homer.

As the hour ticked away, the voices continued to whisper up from who-knows-where. I very much hoped that I hadn't sustain any damage from my recent collision, as I didn't fancy the idea of wandering around Tenebrosa's suspect halls, even if it was for the intention of reaching the Nurse's Quarters. The voices were of many varieties; some high-pitched, others a gravelly moan; but what unnerved me the most was the fact that all of these voices were _understandable_, not just meaningless gibberish. They whispered words of many kinds, speaking to one another in the depths of Tenebrosa:

"_He is here for good, I'm afraid…"_

"_Curse this wretched form—curses—curses…!"_

"_A better cure, a better root plucked to cure this ailed mind…"_

_"The Servant sneaks expertly, ensnaring the hearts of the noble and worthy…"_

I shook my head, now truly afraid I had broken something important—that is to say—my brain. Voices in my head were rarely positive for my health. One page after another, another page after the other, I continued to bury my dismay, my fears, and though the voices over time began to die down, I counted every tick and tock from the mantle, a sense of grave foreboding hovering above me. It was here that I truly began to wonder exactly how long my visit in Tenebrosa would last, whether till tomorrow, till next week, till next month…till next year…. At such thoughts I could not suppress a quiet shudder—I determinedly focused on the text, forcing myself to digest the plot: One page turned, one page after another…another page after the other…one page turned…and another…and another…

* * *

There ends the third chapter. Though he may not believe it now, Renarde has much more to accomplish before the night is over, as does Vivian. A better proofread-version of this chapter may be included in a future installment. Please post a review if time permits. 

- A.G.M. Mendelssohn


	4. Renarde Jacques: Chapter Four

In this chapter, we'll be graced to have a glimpse into Celia Willow's disturbed mind. Much of what she says you may not be able to understand now, but it will become a very critical factor for the rest of the story—keep in mind there's a background story floating over the events taking place now. And…we shall see the cruel trick of fate set in store for Renarde Jacques.

Read and review, and thank you for your support.

* * *

**TENEBROSA **

**_By A.G.M. Mendelssohn, 2006_ **

**Chapter Four **

* * *

_From the documented perspective of Renarde Jacques—_

The hour passed without further incident, with me reading _The Odyssey _by a fogged lantern, Vivian turning about in her deep slumber, the embers of our chamber's fireplace almost completely smothered by darkness, and the thick night beating billows of rain and lightening against our prison-like window. One page gone…another page…. I read the smudged text slowly now, and I turned the yellowing pages with equal caution, wondering exactly how long Ms. Willow intended to keep this fragile hardback, as it was fraught with mold and in evident danger of crumbling to dust. Another page after the other…

The mantle clock clicked prominently, indicating the end of the ninth hour and the beginning of the tenth. I yawned and stretched my arms, closing the book somewhere in the middle of Odysseus's arrival to Ithaca. I replaced the volume back amongst the shelves, and, deciding that tomorrow could very well be a long day, I doused the lamp with a few turns a knob, cutting off the oil supply. At once, blackness enveloped the space…

…But something was very wrong, the moment that the light ceased to shine. I had previously thought that voices whispering in my ear were bad enough, but this was no longer a subtle phenomenon—it was an outright assault from another world. The room, previously warmed by the hearth and retained by the tapestries around the walls, filled with coldness unlike I had ever felt before, even worse than the rawness and grimness of the outdoors. It was a tangible chill, and it surrounded me as if it had been waiting behind the walls or under the bed, waiting for the instant that all sources of light had faded. I grasped my chest, the presence ethereal and discomforting to my lungs. I gasped a few breaths and grabbed the table for support. It was far more freezing than what could be endured, my body wracked with numbness, as solid and unmoving as lifeless ice. In a surge of will, I threw myself from the desk, stumbling towards the window, where I leaned upon the sill, gazing over the expanse of the property.

It was from one supernatural even to another. I couldn't quite trust my eyes, but I knew the apparition upon a glance—far across Tenebrosa's ruined garden, by the iron grates that set up the border of the mansion with the remainder of the estate. Perhaps my sanity was starting to deteriorate from within, but I could not withhold such a description, for it was none other but _he_—that savaged gentleman with piercing dark eyes—and _it_—that Ninetales with depressed character. They stood side-by-side in a dual profile, positioned within the borders of the manor, looking upwards at the edifice before them, or more specifically, directly at my window. Ill intentions etched their expressions, illuminated like pale foxfire, and for a fleeting moment, I envisioned something of my soul squelching itself through my eyes.

I tore myself from the window, my back to the outside duo—or so I thought! Nay, I almost cried out in terror when I brought myself to the eyes of another Ninetales—not the same one as the ghost, but more menacing, and very much alive. By the doorway, sitting quietly and seemingly enjoying my shock, was Tenebrosa's white fox, the one owned by Ms. Willow. I inhaled several raspy breaths, gripping the windowsill with my left hand, now drenched in sweat. The unnatural coldness had vanished, but my heart's rate would not settle to a calming pace. Now, I didn't care very much for those grinning at inappropriate moments, and certainly it was unnerving to have a Ninetales, who was apparently watching me this entire time, with something of a smile on her pointed muzzle (and referring to it as a "she," as Ms. Willow had). I glanced over my shoulder—the _other _Ninetales and the savage gentleman were gone, faded into the mist, the rain, and the darkness.

I returned my gaze at the doorway. The "Servant," as my client had told me, stared back with nothing less than smugness—or certain mischievousness about her eyes. Obviously it paid no comfort to my racing mind.

After several seconds of silence, during which the mantle clock rhythmically clicked the time away, the Ninetales rose from where she sat and turned from her place, each one of her tails gracefully following. She began to stalk off into the shadows of the manor's corridors, slowly and deliberately. I watched with bated breath as she began to vanish into the darkness—and immediately there was a change in cast. Offering me one last look of blatant audaciousness, the creature slyly cocked her head, as if daring me now to follow, to venture into the unknown passages. A glint shone across her sharp eyes, one that reflected from seemingly nothing. I realized that she was doing more than daring me to come along—it was a command.

Half of my brain told me to stay where I was, that it would be most unwise to go wandering about at this hour, especially in a mansion like this. But the more powerful half spoke from my curiosity, telling me to go with the Ninetales and see what exactly she was to show me. Odd, I struggled to resist the urge to follow, yet something seemed to touch my nerves, possess my mind temporarily, and I perhaps understood that to follow would be placing myself in almost certain danger—but a destiny connected to it. A destiny—destiny! More superstitions! A shadow of the personality I once knew briefly returned to my soul, telling me not to be foolish, that everything I had seen was a nasty trick of the mind. But by now, after comprehending everything I had seen, I had come to believe in literally every paranormal occurrence—I left no sign uninvestigated, no omen interpreted. Nothing I could very well resist at this point in time. What had happened to me…? Days earlier I had been concerned with refinery, good impressions, and business transactions; now, I was more worried about unworldly signs, believing in the very superstitions I had despised….

The Ninetales waited a moment, observing what I would do. I sighed, pulling myself upright. Fine, I thought. Let the fox have her fun.

The creature smiled another smirk of self-satisfaction, and she continued her tread through the doorway. My feet felt kept by twenty-odd demons, and I shuffled my way forward, following the fox into the great unknown. All the while my mind continued to ail me: my civilized refinery tugged on one part, and my fears tried to pull me back…and the portion of me recently awakened, a curious obedience that I could not shake off from my system, overpowered both and pulled me forward, towards wherever the Ninetales would lead me.

And then, to add to my agonies…the many voices returned, rising in volume:

"_Is our salvation at hand? Oh, earth and sea, return 'neath the sun!" _

"_I see him now—and _she_. Oh, heavens help them all…"_

"_Find him, catch him, kill the little brute—"_

"_Prepare, prepare, prepare, PREPARE!"_

I brought my hands to my ears, shaking my head slowly, hoping to clear my brain of these strange utterances. The Ninetales turned left from exiting our chambers, so I thought it best to follow in that direction, leading to the western wing of Tenebrosa.

The stone hallways we strolled through were all still lit by various torches, and they were well decorated for a medieval manor. The Servant, however, led me to a different place, apart from the passageways I had seen earlier in the evening. She continued to ascend stairwells, rising into the western side of the castle, and I eventually perceived that we were entering a series of turrets and towers. Exactly where we were going, I hadn't an idea, but it was far too late to turn back now, and even if I cared to turn back, I had to consider other dangers in the Tenebrosa's fold.

Decorations appeared less now, though they were heavily replaced with statues. Not just the common granite, but also cold marble, ivory, and I nearly gasped when I saw a magnificent sculpture of a massive Dragonite, made completely out of what appeared to be fine-cut diamond, and captured in a pose of attack. I nearly lost the Ninetales studying this work, and I wondered exactly who was the sculptor of this piece. Continuing our walk, there was another pedestal standing apart on one side of a stairway, but this one was lacking a statue—actually, all that remained upon it was the ruined fragments of what was, at one point in time, a finished sculpture. Not only that, but it appeared to have been violently smashed to bits, probably with a large iron hammer. I stared at the plate inscribed below: _Houndoom. _I frowned, pondering the circumstances behind it for a moment, then shrugging it off as I jogged to keep up with the Servant.

Only one door remained, made of barren wood and absent of designs. The Ninetales sat at its base, watching me approach. She slyly titled her head towards the handle: it was a doorknob carved with the emblem of the sun.

For a moment I hesitated, placing my hand upon the knob. Then, I inhaled one last calming breath and turned the latch, pushing the door inwards.

I immediately knew I was in a place where I shouldn't have been. It was a chamber with a stone floor like many of the other rooms and hallways of Tenebrosa, but in one corner was a large bed even more elaborate than the one Vivian and I were assigned to. In the center of the room, on either side of two dingy windows, was a collapsed hearth and mantle, the blocks scattered and soot littering the ground in front of it. In another corner was a great stack of folders, stuffed full of documents, spread out upon the nearby desk and floor, cluttered and unkempt. I at once knew where I was: this was Ms. Willow's bedroom.

There was a nudge at my elbow, given by the Ninetales, ushering me into the room. I obliged, not ready to refuse to a creature that could potentially tear me to shreds. Into the sleeping chamber, I first paid observance to the bed—it was empty. I stared up into the ceiling, amazed on how spacious it was, perhaps even bigger than various cathedrals, and I concluded that I was standing beneath the summit of Tenebrosa's western tower. The acoustics might have been ideal for a fair-sized chorus, though at the moment it was filled with the sounds of falling rain, pattering upon the roof, walls, and windows.

I lowered my eyes from the ceiling, and, noticing the documents scattered in one corner, some thrown about, others clipped together, I decided to have an early look at Ms. Willow's receipts and records. I picked one up and read its contents—it was an advertisement:

_Kanto National Memorial Cemetery—for the beloved and departed. 1,500 Pen per burial, casket included._

I dropped the paper from my hands, not completely uplifted by the morbidity of Ms. Willow for keeping such a document. I picked through several other folders, labeled from Housing to Minor Expenses. After a few minutes of sorting, I soon began to figure that Ms. Willow kept every label, every memo, and literally every advertisement known to man. There was a title deed here, a receipt for oil lamps there, and an investment on electrical research tucked in an obscure compartment.

It was after a few more minutes that I chanced upon something suspicious, something apart from the other documents. It was a large black book, secured among the mass of other papers, and it stuck in a lopsided fashion from the other piles, halfway open to a page of its contents. I extracted the book from the mess, and, after clearing away a space on the desk, I set it down and read the page. I recognized the handwriting to be that of Ms. Willow's, and for a second I considered returning it to the pile, not wanting to invade my client's privacy. But as I read the first few words of the page, I found that I could not remove my eyes from the rambling text. It was far from pleasant, and it gripped me with a horrified interest:

_A diary entry of Celia Willow—the time and date irrelevant: _

_Humanity—how wretched you are! How much I wish you gone forever! But it is an impossible wish—for look how much you've grown. It is utterly difficult to punish so massive a body. Ah well; blood, blood, and more blood cannot satisfy my wrath. Perhaps my anger ought to be focused on a more specified target—namely, the one who caused all of this in the first place. _He _will suffer an untimely death, oh yes he will, and I suspect that his fall will provide the worthiest blood for the morning sun. But why not let the rest of humankind suffer in the meantime?_

_Renarde Jacques and his wife, Vivian Jacques, are due to be arriving any hour now. At first, when I received Renarde's reply to my request, I was profoundly disappointed that he was bringing his spouse along. How then would I be able to pursue my plans without Vivian noticing—or, rather, how then would I dispose of such a nuisance without Renarde noticing? It was troubling, very troubling, and I had stayed up many hours to readjust my working plot. It was then a solution came to me: I would split the work between the two, Renarde holding the bigger half and Vivian the other. Ha—romance—another rose to pluck! Initially, I had fancied Joy to accomplish the task, obviously without her knowing, since she is the only other ideal vessel that can successfully complete it, but I am gratified to pursue a better sacrifice. Perhaps it is just as well—Joy had always been too resentful._

_I'm astonished that it took so long to make the addition to my plan; I even had to excuse myself from the first meeting with the Jacques. I vowed that my newfound plan would be complete by dinner tonight; and already I have structured a flawless process._

_But why Renarde Jacques, out of all the other people I could have summoned here? Even I have to consider why, for the reasons are not clear. Ah, never mind; I know why—he lives in Vermilion City, and he was literally one of the only people who had such a wide experience of clientele—he even conducts business as far as Orre and Hoenn._

_The time lingers close. I shall abandon the role as queen and weaken myself in the position of a king, for no longer anyone is there to play the role of a king. Ninetales, my most loyal servant, will be the rook, Joy shall be a knight, and Hale will go between knight and bishop. Vivian Jacques shall be but a pawn, yet a pawn that makes a twofold step. As for Renarde…I set him in store for a much higher role—he shall play by Ninetales' side, also as a rook. For now that is all that I see, but more pieces have yet to be placed in this game._

_My strengths and abilities reveal to me something critical: it is the information telling me that _he _is not far away. In fact, he has never been far, but I sense that he is amassing an army to overthrow me. How horrible if he returns, for he has even incorporated recent science in order to thwart me. Bah…many years to come before he succeeds, and I suspect anonymous pieces delaying his plans. My enemy is smart, yes, but his own evils will serve as his downfall—my ends, on the other hand, will succeed. My exultation and vengeance will be slated very soon. My greatest dream may come true, though currently masked by another goal._

_Oh, that man…he will pay for his grain of crime. What he did…what the entire Willow family did to me…another shall be avenged, and I care not how many lives I should step on to accomplish it. Several exceptions must be included: Ninetales is my stronghold, and her death will mean the end of all my hopes. Therefore, Renarde's life must also be worth something, in case my Servant falls. Vivian is needed for only a few days—and then I could care less what happens. The Captive knows too much; I must follow through on his extermination at one point or another._

_Blood will fall, make no mistake about that. I hold no remorse towards those who stand in my way—I can spare a few human lives to achieve my ends. My powers are linked, and I hold great authority over Tenebrosa. My servants may whisper and moan, true, but they will be otherwise silenced—and they cannot rebel against me, for my death would prove most unfortunate to them. Blood, blood, blood…_

_My happiness is soon to come, even beyond my death. My only other hope is for my hands to be no longer empty, but to be joined with those I ever cared for—oh, all that I have ever loved! Once more, just once more! Oh, come—do come back! Leave that wretched place, and I shall leave this wretched place. But reunited with you at last, beneath your grave is all I can hope for…_

_Joy is knocking upon my door—the Jacques must have arrived._

It was a piece of writing that disturbed me deeply. I didn't like how Ms. Willow made strange references to me as "being a rook in her game," and I liked it even less when she referred to Vivian as a "pawn with a twofold step." This strange obsession for blood had caught my eye as well—and I suddenly feared that my client was slightly more violent and distrustful than I thought, not to mention these hidden powers that she claimed to have. The well being of both Vivian and me began to creep into the foreground of my mind, and I began to wonder if Ms. Willow had called me here not for business purposes, but for reasons beyond the world as I knew it…all of this felt oddly like a trap….

I moved to turn a page back, to research further into this revelation of my client's character. (How correct my wife was: first impressions were indeed deceiving!) But before I could read the contents of the previous page, a sudden movement from behind made me shut the book instinctively. I spun around to face a new arrival—standing in the shadows across the room.

"How good of you come, Mr. Jacques," said Ms. Willow silkily, stroking the Ninetales on the top of the head, "although without an invitation, you happened to wander into my private chambers."

I swallowed, adrenaline surging through my system. "I came on Ninetales' invitation, Ms. Willow." I spoke clearly, and even though it was in fact the truth, I wondered if my client would actually accept such an excuse.

"That sounds reasonable," replied Ms. Willow, as if she had anticipated my statement. "And you followed her to this room, curious as to where she might lead you. I'm sure you found that _book_ rather intriguing."

"Well…I…" I stuttered, glancing at the diary; I began to sense a certain danger filling the room. I returned my gaze to Ms. Willow's face again. "It is disturbing, and I very much pray none of it is true."

"You are naïve," breathed the mistress, "if you thought what I wrote in my own private journals was made-up and fictional. Nay, everything you read was the truth of my heart."

A sinking feeling ventured into my mind—I had indeed been precontrived to a trap. Suddenly, everything about Ms. Willow's odd actions, behaviors, and writings connected to one another, formulating one uncomfortable conclusion…

"Ill intentions are up and about," I muttered, bravely trying to put together some sort of a confrontation. Actually, at the time, I still didn't quite believe the danger I was in. "You have a certain hatred for humankind, Ms. Willow, as according to your journal. You've led me here for something unpleasant, but important."

She smiled, her green eyes flashing dangerously. "Oh, _very _perceptive, Mr. Jacques. Even if you didn't come to this chamber, I would have found a way to ensnare you by one means or another. Yes, you retain importance, and I am sure you will figure out the nature of that importance sooner or later. But enough talk for now—you have trespassed into my room— Ninetales—"

She nodded in my direction. The Ninetales, a sly sneer on its muzzle, approached where I stood—not in an outright attack, but gradually…slowly…stalking the foe.

"Ninetales did well earlier this evening—that is to say, _you _did well earlier this evening," stated Ms. Willow smoothly. "You treaded upon one of her tails. Not enough, I'm afraid, to do much change, but enough to provoke your curiosity and to follow Ninetales to this place."

I gulped involuntarily, keeping a wary eye on the creature circling around me while trying to retort to Ms. Willow.

"What do you intend, Ms. Willow?" I inquired uncomfortably yet in a challenging manner, biding time and secretly cursing myself for coming here in the first place. "Murder me for reading a few of your secrets? Your grudge against the world is to be taken out on me?"

"No, no," chided the mistress, calmly waving away my response with one hand, "to you I intend nothing so melodramatic."

"Then what?" I asked, staring directly into her emerald eyes.

Her eyes seemed to brighten and darken simultaneously, an unworldly blaze within them. "Oh, you'll see."

My distraction had allowed the Ninetales to pounce. Before I could react, the fox had launched a fantastic spin, whipping its tails around and connecting hard into my chest. I grunted, and I recognized, despite the heavy impact across my abdomen, the attack as a Tail Whip. The blow swept me from me feet and onto my back, near an empty corner of the room. Strange shocks, like that of supernatural lightening, tore into my chest, and they spread eerily down every limb of my body, soon vanishing in seconds passing. I breathed heavily, fearing for a moment a second assault, but the Ninetales had retreated back to the other side of the room, leaving me where I laid. I pulled myself to my feet…

…And then the torment began, wracking every inch of skin and bone. It came little by little, starting softly and then building in dynamic, engulfing me like growing fire.

My limbs felt as if a great amount of splitters had emerged from my bones, cutting into my flesh. My insides were crumbling upon themselves, an invisible pressure squeezing upon me from all sides. I brought my hands to my face, gripping my hair as the pain ensured—I made no sound, for my lungs seemed devoid of air. My eyes glanced fearfully upon Ms. Willow, who made no change in character as she watched me suffer; if anything did change, it was the grim look of bronzed amusement, a look that I would never forgive for the remainder of my life. And then, right before my very eyes, a horrific change progressed: slowly—very, very slowly—my hands seemed to shrink inwards, nails lengthening, and hair, a light shade of red, growing at an unnatural rate. Indeed, they appeared claw-like, canine, and as far from human as I had ever known.

Rage leapt from within; the Ninetales—that daemon—had caused this! But the rage was soon replaced by terror as I felt my face lengthen into a pointed muzzle, and equally keen ears rising gradually from my head. Internally, new warmth had revealed itself, like a flame that would never die, and my spine and bones twisted and crushed to a minute size, some bending, others shattering completely, all of it agonizing my nerves and dousing me with overwhelming pain.

I began to shrink into my clothes, the pants, the shirt, and the sweater growing to a bigger size. The joints in my legs rearranged themselves, and my shoes felt much too large for my feet. I opened my mouth to utter a moan, but my throat and esophagus felt as if they were constricting, my insides shifting about, disappearing, reappearing, and changing. The base of my spine seemed to have extended, and indeed as I glimpsed over my shoulder, six tails, fur-covered and curled at the tips, had emerged, fanning outwards as they grew.

With my spine compromised and my legs and hands reshaped, I could no longer support myself in my original standing position—onto all fours I fell, landing flawlessly upon the stone floor. I was tangled within the remains of my apparel, all tattered due to the transformation, and I struggled to free myself from their hold. All the while, the touches of completion stabbed at me—every folic on my head regrouped, fur smoothed into a fine coat, my face finished its fox-like appearance, and the sestet of tails grew no more. The splinters and pricks of pain gradually faded away, leaving me as I was, but my mind was nowhere near tranquil.

I cried out my anguish, but my vocabulary, once bilingual in a long list of words, had reduced all the way to one pitiful sound:

"_Vulpix—pix!"_

A delicate cry, a soft voice replaced my human communication. Even I had to pause a moment to grasp my bearings: I found I could understand my own phrases, despite the new language that I spoke. And more—I could understand this language spoken by others, universal amongst such creatures.

"_And so it begins…" _said a voice in the shadows, in a humming and knowing tone.

I realized at once who it was—the daemon! The Servant! It was the Ninetales who led me to this room simply to witness my cruel metamorphosis. I looked about myself frantically, seeing exactly what damage had been done: no remnants of physical humanity lingered upon me. Rich red fur covered every part; six tails, curled at the tips and fur-covered; paws where hands had once been, legs reorganized to a vulpine stance; and thick white fur beneath my chin and along my underside. The floor mirror stood nearby; I cautiously approached it, peering into it, afraid of what I might see. My reflection showed not a human, far from Renarde Jacques, but a frightened creature, trembling slightly as it observed itself in the mirror. My eyes had gone a light gray, complimented with a pointed muzzle and black nose. Large ears, also pointed, erected themselves from my head. A crown of red, delicately curled at the highest extremities and running down upon my once-forehead in a triangle-like shape, completed the image.

I sat—and the creature in the mirror sat upon its haunches, its forepaws straight, its hind legs folded—allowing this strange occurrence to grab hold of my mind. For a wonderful moment I wistfully thought this all a dream, that I had fallen asleep by Vivian's side (Oh God, what is to become of her!) and had had a terrible nightmare that my client had ensnared me with the aid of her Ninetales. But the seconds passed, and I realized this not to be a terrible dream, but a terrible reality.

"_Perhaps, once you have become acquainted with yourself, you may turn to face the ones who have made you what you are."_

For a full moment I could not remove my sight from the vulpine creature that stared at me from the mirror. It was a horrible beauty: a sweet creature, one akin to a Ninetales, used as the embodiment of a bitter circumstance. Finally, I tore my eyes from the Vulpix, bringing myself around to stare at the hated daemon and the sorceress that made me so.

"_Pix, vulpix-pix—what have you done to me?" _I uttered in almost a snarl.

Ms. Willow took a step forward, smiling quaintly. "Isn't it obvious, Mr. Jacques?" she replied. "I told you well about Ninetales' mystical energy within each of her tails, how it could be used for various purposes, including your own transformation. It was generous that I told you beforehand, as I usually reveal to no one about such facts."

"_Strange generosity!"_ I said, my feelings an alloy of newfound harshness, anger, and intense fear. _"You called me here on a ploy, not to discuss the value of your estate, but to make me as I am. You invite your guests to stay here, only to rob them in the end. I saw it in your diary!"_

"Oh, cheer up, Mr. Jacques," laughed Ms. Willow, a horrible rattle that did not match her youthful appearance. More and more she sounded older than she looked. "You'll come to appreciate your new form, and I intend to follow through with our agreement of business—not completely about the evaluation of Tenebrosa, of course—and you'll find your happiness in the end."

"_Correction," _I interrupted, my emotions jumbling. _"You'll find _your _happiness in the end, as according to your records. I've yet to know what it is, but I fear it something devastating to humanity."_

"And right you are!" confirmed Ms. Willow, bringing her hands together. "Unfortunately, that is neither all what I hope for, nor will you be the one to fulfill that role. I've found someone else in mind…"

At first, I couldn't quite understand whom she was talking about, and I inclined my head to think about it. Someone else to fulfill the role? Who could it—? Then it came to me; I realized the cruel deeds that she was about to pursue. My head snapped up, and though it was very much against my intentions, I bore and gritted my teeth, hackles raised.

"_Dare you," _I spat, my anger overtaking all other senses. _"Dare you mean to harm my Vivian! Of all innocence you can exploit, do you dare choose to place her in harm's way!"_

"Quiet down, there's no need to adapt to your instincts so quickly," said the mistress serenely, raising one finger. "You barely even know my plans. But you are correct in one thing: you may think you're in a bad state, but your wife will undergo a more unfortunate fate than you have."

"_Your soul damned!" _I cried, backing up on all fours. _"Then I'll have to change that. We will be leaving this place before the bells ring midnight—not another second longer we will be staying in this manor!"_

For a moment, I seemed to have put Ms. Willow in her place, for she appeared to be unable to come up with a response. But then, to my dismay, she exchanged a sardonic glance with her Ninetales, who stood up and approached me as if to reveal a hovering truth. The creature issued a smile that chilled even the new fire within my throat.

_"That would be most unwise, young one," _said the daemon, its knowing wile infuriating me, yet also adding to my rising trepidation. _"I foresee Vivian leaving this place, yes, but if _you_ step beyond the gates of this manor—you will not only be a Vulpix on the outside…but on the inside as well. You will become a Vulpix in all ways—your human mind irredeemably lost."_

It was then, through the sharp merciless eyes of that Ninetales, that I sighted the gates of hell. Any confidence, any vindictiveness within me died that very instant, and I was left with nothing but profound desperation. My freedom had been removed, and against my will I had been stolen away from civilization. My ultimate fears had come around, and I realized that Vivian was beyond my help. There she laid in a peaceful sleep, unaware of the danger she was in—but I knew—but I _knew_—the conditions she would be wrought with. My fate paled in front of the one she would soon suffer!

_"Pix…no…" _I choked, edging into one corner and curling up into a ball. _"This cannot be…"_

_"And yet it is," _continued the Ninetales, insensitive and unfeeling to the anguish burning within this room. _"You are one of the Enchanted, Renarde, thus you can never leave. Moreover, be aware that time is forever dead to you."_

I did not question her words, I did not question the situations, and I did not question Ms. Willow's horrible plans for the world, or why she would wrath out such hatred. All I could feel was my loss, and Vivian's loss. I curled myself even more, hoping to hide away from the world, from the troubles at hand. But they would not go away; they assaulted me from all sides, the infamous truth needling into my brain. As it stirred again and again through my mind, I bolted to my feet and wailed to the ceiling: lamentations that only a Vulpix could cry.

My form robbed—and bound fast to this place! Heavens help me! Farewell to all—Vivian!

* * *

There ends the fourth chapter, as well as the documented perspective of Renarde Jacques. But what is to become of Vivian—and where may this metamorphosis lead? Please post a review if time allows. 

- A.G.M. Mendelssohn


	5. Vivian Jacques: Chapter Five

We shall see Vivian's fate and Ms. Willow's blatant wickedness, though it is much more extended than what is contained in this text. Thus, you may subtitle this chapter "The Second Metamorphosis," for fairly obvious reasons. With this said, read on, viewers! Read on, and review!

* * *

**TENEBROSA **

**_By A.G.M. Mendelssohn, 2006_ **

**Chapter Five **

* * *

_From the documented perspective of Vivian Jacques—_

Darkness blanketed everywhere I looked. It was not a gentle darkness, either, one that grows as the light of the sun vanishes in the western horizon, but an impenetrable wall of blackness that sneered at my attempts to feel my way around. I couldn't even see the hands in front of me, the darkness repelling my fingers like an unconquerable barrier, trapping there in the space for all time. There were no hints of light anywhere, and for what seemed to be miles, I wandered aimlessly through the eternal tenebrosity, hopeless and irredeemable. I could hear nothing, feel nothing, see nothing, and my bosom heaved in desperation, longing to find solace in the void: Renarde…where are you…? But even as these thoughts began to flood my mind, all at once a brilliant light pierced the dark blanket, emerging from seemingly nowhere. I shielded my eyes as the light spread across the entire oblivion. Where am I…?

It was a forest, unchanged by human hands, the sun shining brightly through the canopy, lighting every speck of dust floating across its warming beams. It touched the ground, lined with green grass, the bark of the many oaks, and nearby, a brook rippled and frothed as it flowed its supply of water downstream. The entire area breathed a mysterious presence, hazy and surreal like a dream most mystical.

In the low shrubbery, I noticed there lingered many tiny fox-like creatures, their eyes upon me as I stood amongst them. They crawled from their hiding places and approached me, unafraid and welcoming. Around me they circled, and they for a time did not come any closer, but merely looked upon me in an almost admiring manner. These Vulpix pups were perfectly silent—quite unnatural, I would say, but nevertheless complimenting the forest's atmosphere. Their sparkling eyes, their rich coats, every one of their tail sestets curled around their forepaws as they examined me. In sure moments, they began to approach me in knowledgeable recognition, as if just recently realizing who I was.

They were very persistent, gathering by my feet as if I was to be their motherly figure, hoping for me to care for them with great tenderness. But indeed, as they pounced upon my ankles, I pondered where their true mother could be. I gazed around the mystical wood for any sign of a grown Vulpix or Ninetales, but I found none—thus I began to suspect that these poor little things were orphaned, their parents probably scooped up by a trainer with an Apricorn, shot down by hunters, or injured beyond recovery. This saddened me immensely, and I immediately crouched to stroke the youthful creatures. They were happy at this attention, and they responded by affectionately licking my hands. 

A flash from the sky struck my vision, and I was no longer standing in the woodlands. Instead, I stood in midair over the vast ocean, colored a deep green-blue, waves stirring across the expanse in disturbance of an endless sheet. The sky remained blue, very blue, not a single cloud anywhere, the sun hovering above me, casting down its light. I looked down at the ocean—and silently gasped: the water had formed to the shape of a fabled monster, dragon-like, and bearing massive jaws from the surface, leering upwards to the sky, directly below me. My breath hastened, and I feared I would be thrown to the water, to be sacrificed to the feasting of the great monster. My apprehension, to my utmost horror, came true before I could even ponder a second thought. The sky seemed to repulse me, releasing me so that I underwent a sudden descent towards the creature, who then opened its mouth to gladly receive me. I shut my eyes, and screamed a quiet scream, feeling the gravity take me to my doom.

I bolted from my bed, sitting upright and rasping for breath. I grabbed my chest and allowed the calm air to settle my pulse, any disorientation clearing from my eyes as sleep lifted.

Just a dream…. I sighed, pulling myself to an upright position. There was nothing unusual as I sat in that bed, surrounded by the nightly clamor of rain and wind—that is, nothing unusual until I looked around the room for a few moments. I realized that someone was amiss—Renarde. He was nowhere to be found in this bedroom—he was not laying beside me, and the armchair by the blanked hearth was empty. I wondered exactly where he had gone while I had rested in dreamy slumber—and at what time he would return. I brushed a strand of hair from my eyes, thinking—just thinking; there were no specific thoughts in particular, for scraps of computation ran to and fro from one end of my mind to another. Dreams, dreams… I hoped that all matters would turn out fine in the end, and that Ms. Willow would turn out more pleasant than the mistress I had met hours ago.

As I sat there in quiet reflection, I began to perceive a coldness entering the room. It was a strange coldness, one the seemed to chill more than just my body, and it was a feeling akin to the farthest extremities of the world. I rubbed my arms wearily, pondering if I should strike up the hearth to help warm this place—but for some reason, I had the suspicions that this sudden chill had nothing whatsoever to do with weather. As it happened, I was correct.

And then, most unexpectedly, I looked up—and I started at the sight.

A tall figure, disfigured and paler than the moon, had materialized not two feet from my bedside. His face gave the impression of a corpse, yet it was mutated to the point that it did not seem human—it was a savage expression, though I found it somewhat familiar, a memory stored in the deepest extent of my brain. His hair was whiter than snow, yet several places showed the singes of recent fire burns; his hands and arms were frail, withered and almost canine-like, and he was garbed in a coat that appeared to have been worn through several parties, a royal ball, and full-fledged battle of blood. A faint mist emulated about this apparition, and when he raised his hands, almost complete claws, he let out an unearthly moan:

_"Quake not thy wrath…"_

He spoke in a pleading, desperate voice, as if he was one with nothing to lose and everything to gain. I jumped to the other side of the bed, scattering the sheets and blankets here and there, fascinated by this mystical presence and staring in open-moth awe.

_"Fire upon ye bark of Meredith be…"_

The ghostly gentleman remained unhindered by my retreat; he crossed through the bed like it didn't even exist, again stalking towards me. If I didn't know better at the time, I could have almost concluded that this was his idea of a greeting, as if meeting someone he hadn't seen in at least a century. He wailed another phrase:

_"Thou shalt not yield…"_

"Who are you!" I cried, swiftly backing up from the deformed gentleman. "What do you want!" Indeed, I was overcome with a foreboding curiosity.

The deformity breathed a rattle that bore reminiscence to death, and, slowly raising his claw-like hands to my face, he, as if it were a great strain to do so, opened his mouth and moaned one last utterance, the last remnants of his energy spent:

_"King's piece taken…"_

And then, not relieving himself from his rigid stance, his still mouth fixed open, his shadowy eyes vacant like one that is smothered, he vanished into the darkness, fading away like a lantern that is gradually doused. In seconds passing the apparition was gone, and the space where he had stood returned to the shadows as if it had never been disturbed by anything supernatural. The rain continued to fall, the lightening carried on its activity, but nothing ghostly remained in the room.

I sighed, pulling myself upright from the windowsill, reflecting over the strange sight I had just witnessed. Who was that man, with such a deformity carved into his face, his limbs, and his entire body? I, unlike Renarde, believed in such spirits appearing to people; not that I would ever tell him, of course—he never cared much for superstitious people. This was why I was not so much terrified as I was worried, wondering what this otherworldly appearance could mean to me. Why would he reveal himself to me, and what was the symbolism of his words? "Fire upon ye bark of Meredith be"? "King's piece taken"? These phrases made very little sense, and even after several minutes of quiet thought, I could not comprehend their meanings.

A sudden movement from the doorway caught my eye, and I peered across the span of the room to see who it was.

"Ms. Gaudium?" I called uncertainly. "Is that you?"

"Indeed, I have come," returned the nurse's voice. I at once noted a change in her character: no longer did she have that firm obedience retained when welcoming us into the manor or when serving Ms. Willow; rather, it was replaced with a hushed voice, quiet yet urgent, and it surprised me, for I rarely thought Ms. Gaudium was capable of such altered emotion. I strode across the room to where she stood—even by the poor lighting of the threshold, I could see that she was large in the eyes and seemed to had been recently mortified.

"Mrs. Jacques," she whispered, looking fearfully at every shadow that stirred, as if unsettled by an unseen monster lurking in the darkness. "I do not mean to bring any vexation upon you, as I believe you were recently asleep…well…"

"Yes?" I prompted, worry beginning to return to my bosom. "What is it, Ms. Gaudium?"

For a moment Ms. Gaudium seemed to be unable to bring the words to her voice. She opened her mouth, as one does to discourse something dreadfully important, but even from where I stood, her tongue was cleaved to her palate, fixed and unmovable. Her eyes revealed a terrible fright, like one that broods over mortality, and it was the same that she expressed when Renarde had injured himself earlier this evening. Finally, she was able to unstick her tongue, but even so, she spoke with great caution, treading in waters most sensitive.

"I apologize," she breathed, rubbing her hands wearily, "I have not been entirely honest with you…oh, help us, help us…"

Concerned that she would collapse in a faint, I gestured towards the bed, gently taking her arm. "Come, you must sit down," I offered. "You look like you're about to be overcome with anxiety—"

"Thank you," replied the nurse feebly, nearly falling upon the bed, a dazed look haunting her expression. "It—it has been a long day…I cannot describe…I mean, already it had begun…why must this be…? Lord God help us, for the sake of humanity and all that's good…I shouldn't speak…but I cannot bear my tormented mind any longer…cruel wretch…oh, help us, help us…." She wrung her hands repeatedly, as if trying to rid herself from an invisible coldness, or trying to wash her hands from an unpleasant substance.

"Calm down now…" I soothed, sitting next to her and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's all right…tell me what is wrong…"

"I shouldn't speak!" gasped Ms. Gaudium, her eyes hinting the liquid of brimming tears. She was rapidly losing control of her nerves, and no amount of reassurance could seem to calm her system. "Not to you! Not to Renarde—oh, Mr. Jacques! I must tell _him_! Yes, yes, at any cost—but to _you_! Oh, she'll punish me so severely…but if I can't…but if I _could_…I should…nay, let me die…I must die…please end this…please…I cannot go on…." She grasped me by the arms, and she brought her face close to mine, her eyes pleading, full of tears. "Kill me, kill me…let my soul rest…there will be rest, of course…stars may shine for me yet again…oh, please, Vivian—Mrs. Jacques, good wife of noble Renarde—end me…!"

I started, pulling her from me, disturbed dearly by her anguished emotions. I stood abruptly. "Please, Ms. Gaudium, you know not what you say…"

"Please, please," she cried, covering her face with trembling hands. She shook all over, sliding from the bed and unto the floor, where she continued to shake all over. "Don't! Don't! Don't! Too many years—_too many_! Let me die in peace! This obedience is too much to bear—and to watch every one—_every one of them!_ —To suffer as they do! Oh, forgive me! Forgive yourself! Forgive—forgive! God help me! Heavens above!" She heaved herself back and forth, her arms clamped firmly over her chest, shuddering as tears scattered on the ground.

"Sh…" I tried, hoping to restore her back to a serene state—to no avail. She seemed more than willing to curl up and die on that small space of floor, oblivious to the world yet utterly crushed by it. For several minutes, her sobs filled the room, covering out even the sounds of the rain and thunder outside. I sat back down on the bed and let her wail her woes away, for at this point I knew there was nothing else I could do to help her, not, at least, until she had calmed down a bit, so that she could confess whatever was ailing her heart.

Finally, once she had been completely relieved of tears, she brought her eyes back to mine, as if a wonderful idea had crossed her mind. "You must leave," she murmured in a desperate tone. "You are no longer welcome here—you must leave at once—yes, yes—that's what you must do!" She scrambled to her feet in a new conviction. "Out, out—Renarde cannot—but _you _can, oh yes, yes…." She was clearly delirious, a manic glimmer of hope in her eyes, and by now, I began to suspect that Ms. Gaudium, who only hours ago had been a working and stable person, was shattered in mind. "Out with you—go, _go_!"

I leapt up, backing away, unsure what Ms. Gaudium would do next. "But—my husband," I stumbled, frightened by the sudden metamorphosis of her soul. Indeed, my heart reminded me that Renarde was not present in this room, and my thoughts were beginning to miss him and wonder about his safety. "Where is he? What has happened, Ms. Gaudium!"

"There is no time," spoke the household head urgently, the distant torchlight touching her face, illuminating the deep creases beneath her eyes. "You mustn't stay here another minute! You'll be next! A twofold step—my God! What you would suffer is beyond compare. Please, you must leave!" She took me by the hand and unsuccessfully tried to pull me into the corridors.

"My husband," I returned, wrenching my hand away, "where is he? Please tell me what is bothering you, Ms. Gaudium, for love's sake!"

"The Servant sneaks expertly, ensnaring the hearts of the noble and worthy…" She cried this in a prophetic manner, glancing worriedly all around, up and down the hallway, checking for any dangers of the body. "Oh, lured to the mistress's study—again hoping to gain her selfish ends through horrible means—leave, now! Out! Before it is too late, before time dies for everyone!"

I gasped—my suspicions of Ms. Willow's involvement had been confirmed. At once inquiries of many kinds formulated at the peak of my voice, and I ventured to pronounce them despite Ms. Gaudium's enduring hysteria: "She? I thought it would be she! What has she done? Where is she now? What is she planning to do? _Where is Renarde!_"

"Trouble me no more," she shrieked, covering her ears and wailing nonstop. "Quickly! You can't help him now—it is your own safety that you should be concerned about! Please, Mrs. Jacques, I beg of you to disembark at once, and I make it my only wish that you survive these terrors!"

A mix of impatient frustration and worry crept into my tone: "I am not going anywhere until you tell me where—"

"An ode to death!" exclaimed the household head, raising her hands to the ceiling—she had begun crying again, sobbing her words to incomprehensible phrases. "Please, take me! Not you! I—you—she—_he! _How could I be—trusting—damned to the betrayer—gone—gone—_gone!"_

I winced, deciding that enough had been enough. "Really now, Ms. Gaudium! You must control yourself—!"

_"Pix!"_

My ears detected a noise amongst the pandemonium that stood before me—what was that? It sailed from over the rafters, coming a fair distance from where we stood, but I sensed its presence nevertheless.

"And if anything was to happen! If she means to lure—"

"Sh!" I issued forcefully, bringing a finger to my lips. "That noise—listen—!"

Immediately Ms. Gaudium inhaled a large amount of air and silenced herself so that there was nothing but emptiness filling the corridor.

_"Vulpix—PIX!"_

There indeed came a noise, a sound so chilling that it seemed to briefly freeze my soul into place—the cries of a Vulpix came from the upper floors, screaming a tortured howl over and over again, lamenting…. But there was something strange about the grief I listened to—it was a pleading call, a request for aid. How I perceived such an understanding, I perhaps would never know, but that voice reminded me of a person familiar…. Unusual, I had rarely seen Vulpix in my lifetime, only having had one as a pet when I was very little, yet a mystical presence drew me towards that voice, and it revealed to me in an instant a force that seemed to tell me to follow, to investigate, to help that poor creature in the floors above…. But what was it that made me suddenly so sympathetic, made me temporarily forget even the whereabouts of dear Renarde? Was it the dream I had recently that brought me this sensation, or was it something more ethereal? I couldn't grasp it—but in that moment I knew what I was to do.

"I must go there," I breathed, slowly stepping into the passages that seemed to lead into the distance above the manor. "Those wails…"

Ms. Gaudium's eyes widened even more and she at once let out a terrified squeal. "No, no, _no! _I won't allow it—no, no, it is a trap, Mrs. Jacques! You mustn't go—!"

But already I had begun to speed into the corridors, heading towards the place that heralded those vulpine cries. Something within my heart told me that all my questions would be answered if I merely responded, and, strangely, I wondered if Renarde would indeed be found in the same place. The happy thoughts of finding my husband safe provided better incentive to hasten through the halls.

A freezing hand halted my pace, squeezing upon my arm. I glanced over my shoulder—Ms. Gaudium had stopped me. "Mrs. Jacques—no! _Do not go to that wretched place! _You're only playing the role she has set for you…!"

"My husband is up there…" I stared into the ceilings, as if I could see through the great masses of stones and the exact location of Renarde. I cared not about whatever dangers there were in store for me, nor anything that Ms. Willow could befall on me; all I cared was to approach those pleading calls and to reunite with my husband. I still did not know how aiding a Vulpix would help me find Renarde, but my soul screamed that it would, even though my mind had yet to understand. "I must!"

I forcibly extracted my arm from Ms. Gaudium, who continued to gibber as I ran into the shadows, dimly illuminated by the fading torchlight. "All are ensnared! Curses—curses! The Half-life will survive!" Her shouted warnings faded into the darkness behind me while the cries before me grew in dynamic. I quickened my pace, stepping up stairwells, nearly crashing through doors, and hurrying past various sculptures that lined the passageway—a crystalline Dragonite here, a smashed relic there.

Finally, I discovered the source of these ceaseless wails: they projected from behind a final door at what appeared to be the summit of a rather large turret. The door itself was plain wood, but the doorknob was heavily carved with an emblem; but I took no time to investigate the handle; I grasped it, twisted it, and wrenched open the aperture, stumbling inside the room.

The scene that unfolded behind me was more chaotic than I could have imagined—that is to say, the sights of the room was more chaotic, as opposed to the actual events. The namesake Vulpix trembled in one corner of the room, howling at the ceiling in distinguished agony. A hearth of collapsed stones stood boastfully in the pride of the room; a bed of exuberant taste and wealth revealed itself in a far opposite corner; the third corner held a disfigured pile of papers more numerous than perhaps all the governmental documents in the world amassed; the ceiling towered high and vast, stretching into a dome-like fashion. This chaos seemed to affect me in a strange way: I sensed a malicious ubiety in this room—I knew not how, but I merely felt it.

"Well, well…" lulled a voice from the final corner, the one to my immediate left. "This is becoming more convenient by the minute."

I turned to face the owner of that voice—even though she was submerged in the shadows, I recognized it to be Tenebrosa's mistress, standing quietly in the fourth corner of what I knew to be her room.

"_Ninetales, tales…" _growled the Ninetales by her side, as if most amused by my sudden intrusion. A sneer-like smile appeared on its muzzle, a triumphant expression glinting dangerously in its eyes.

"I was planning to send Ninetales down to fetch you," continued Ms Willow in an almost cheery manner, but her face held promises of a hidden malevolence. "I never expected you to come here, Mrs. Jacques."

Behind me, the Vulpix had ceased its cries upon becoming aware of my presence, and with an uplifted bark, a rush of paws told me that the creature was charging in my direction. I turned in my place, and not a moment too soon, for the red fox had bounded itself into my arms. I held it close, no doubt surprised by its sudden vivacity, it no longer wailing a depressed air but leaping and running as if all its woes had instantly waned upon my entrance.

"Well, hello there, little one," I greeted kindly in spite of Ms. Willow's confrontation, gently petting its soft fur, who then responded with a friendly bark. Slightly rejuvenated by this, I returned my gaze to the mistress; her stare, her sharp green eyes, filled the room like a poisonous coldness, and thus I found it best to offer an explanation.

"You've been carrying on a disturbance all the way into my room, Ms. Willow—more correctly, this Vulpix had been hindering my rest," I stated clearly, hoping to dispel the cloud of tension that had promptly spread into the room. "I merely came to investigate."

"Of course," chimed the mistress smoothly, chuckling in an almost nonchalant sort of way—her eyes continued to tell differently, however; they revealed a disturbing look of ambitious hunger. "You supposedly came out of curiosity, as your dear Renarde did. Interesting…two Jacques fall to the same reason."

"What do you mean?" I inquired in my best stern voice, gripping a bit too firmly on the scruff of the Vulpix's neck. "Where is Renarde, Ms. Willow? Ms. Gaudium seemed to provide a bit of concern on such matters—"

The mistress's eyes squinted pointedly, suddenly acid-like. "Did she? Fascinating, she finally broke down after all this time. I warned her to hold her tongue—"

"I came of my own free will," I interceded quickly, not wishing to place Ms. Gaudium in further trouble. "But that is beside the point—_what have you done to my husband?"_

"Wouldn't you like to know," she replied calmly, countering my question with a question, "the real reason why you actually came here? I can well assure you it had nothing to do with being concerned about a pathetic little Vulpix. You came to find your husband, and by chance you happened to follow a Vulpix's cries in order to find him—something drew you to this particular place, the one with commotion but not guaranteeing the location of your spouse, yet you cannot explain it?"

Silence was all I could reply with; she had spoken accurately.

Ms. Willow issued a dry chortle. "That's very good, Mrs. Jacques—you love your husband so profusely that you can feel his presence in any condition, injured, dead…deformed. Don't try and deny it—I can see it in your soul."

"And _you _find that humorous, Ms. Willow?" I asked incredulously. "Romance separated and seeking to reunite? Good heavens, you could never understand such matters—you, one who had never loved before!"

I regretted my words the instant they flowed from my mouth, for they seemed to puncture the mistress straight through the heart more effectively than a sharpened dagger. Her sophistication had fallen, and she appeared almost petrified, staggering backwards by the force of my phrases; and her Ninetales no longer looked smug, but it instead snarled brutishly, lowering itself as if about to spring for my throat. I quickly backed up, terrified for my life, but the Vulpix in my arms, instead of staying where it was, leapt from my grasp and retorted with a matching growl and defensive pose, standing in front of me and guarding my well being.

"Oh, you shall pay for your words," spat the mistress, a dark glare etched into her face, making her less a refined lady and more an untamable force that threatened to cut across my life. "Oh, you foolish woman! Punishment is promised for you amongst my wrath—but fortunately, I had already planned such a fate."

"Fate does not interest me—but I've noticed that your uncontrollable tendency to punish has wrought misery on many people, especially Ms. Gaudium. I fear that cruelty is all that you have ever known. In addition, your place is full of ghosts," I breathed, trying to bid time into my favor, my senses warning me of danger, "and even _they_ are miserable in this Tenebrosa! Indeed, you've never loved!"

I realized that my words had struck another blow in Ms. Willow's spirit. Her chest heaved uncontrollably, as if she would soon collapse and cry, and indeed, even as I tried to decipher her behavior, she staggered over to the ruined hearth. Gripping one end of the lopsided mantle, she continued her heavy breathing, staring piercingly at the fallen stones and dusted ash. Then, quite unexpectedly, she burst out a cascade of emotion, screaming at an ear-piercing level:

"_No! Come back! Oh God—do come, come! Leave that place—I'll take care of it—! No—no—NO—just once more! Once more…! Please…!"_

I watched in fascinated horror at this splitting of Ms. Willow's sanity. First Ms. Gaudium, now Tenebrosa's mistress herself—what on heaven's exultation was wrong with these people! It seemed that no one here was able-minded, and in the circumstances witnessed, I would probably mistake each person to be spiritually possessed. 

Nearly reeling backwards by such actions, I remained unsure on how to handle the scenario at hand: in one corner, Ms. Willow was displaying a person ruined and dismembered in mind; in another, her Ninetales opposed me with a vindictive stare, quite ready to literally tear my life to shreds; and in front of me, the odd little Vulpix held its defense, valiantly daring the white fox to take another step, teeth bared and everything brutish.

I attempted to pull my gaze away from the eventful chaos present—but as Ms. Willow wailed hysterically, something most unforgivable caught my eyes, something that made my heart shudder and my mind freeze: near the right side of the hearth, close to the desk full of papers and cabinets, laid a heap of garments, disorganized and tattered, as if the person wearing them had been attacked by many claws, lances, and other objects sharp and pointed. Moreover, the clothes were vaguely familiar—there was a sweater, a travelling coat, dress shirt, pants, and boots, and nestled amongst them all was the final symbol that told me my husband was not at all well: a wooden cross, crudely carved, strung upon a thin leather cord. I recognized that cross the moment I saw it—it was the very same that had been given to my husband by the Azure Cross innkeeper. I could not doubt it any longer: Renarde had been lured to injury! Dead, I feared the worst, but at the very least in conditions most vile and hostile!

"No…" I whispered in a hushed, disbelieving voice, sensing a profound loss in my being as if part of me had been violently undone. "My husband…Renarde…" One half of me willed itself to throw my body over the ruined apparel to mourn over the likely end of what had been a happy marriage; seven years were gone, as were my dreams and my life. But the better half of mind commanded itself to remain courageous, to confront the cause of misery as Renarde would have done. By this, I felt liberated from internal discord and demanded an explanation, despite Ms. Willow's shrieks.

"Quiet down," I spoke sharply, burying my own dismay. My eyesight on the Tenebrosa mistress hardened, and any sympathy I would have had for her had vanished. "I have had enough of your estranged, loveless attitude, Ms. Willow. You have done something to my husband—and you are correct, I perceived such ill happenings from down in my bedroom—and I demand from your words reasoning for your actions this evening. Explain yourself at once!"

Eerily, the very moment I had completed my discourse, she ceased her sobbing altogether, ending her tears and moans in an instant; it gave the impression that she had been merely pretending her anguish. A shadow of a smile returned to her face, and she therefore looked even less human than I had known.

"It would amuse me greatly," she articulated airily, her green eyes locking into mine, "if I told you that your dear Renarde is forever dead. I would very much enjoy your sadness, to think that your husband had been brutally torn to bits by Ninetales, and my entire evening would hence be more pleasant, my life light-hearted—"

"Your sense of humor is astray—death to romance, death to life—you are lower than any misanthrope, any murderer, or any demon to touch this earth," I replied heatedly.

"—But I shall not indulge myself this evening," conceded the mistress as if she had not heard me, shrugging her shoulders in an offhand sort of way, as if to make me miserable was an opportunity lost. "I assure you, Mrs. Jacques, Renarde is in safe hands."

My eyes widened, following with a suspicious glare. "How so?"

Ms. Willow laughed her rattling cackle, inclining her head as she spoke. "Oh, I'm pretty sure you can figure it out, if you put together what I am capable of, respecting my abilities and powers—not to mention that Vulpix who so _persistently _decides to guard your safety."

A whimpering at my feet told me that the Vulpix had returned to sit by my side. I glanced downwards, staring into the fox's grayish eyes, the red fur upon its face matted in some places. Indeed, as its tails swirled around its front, yet almost in a drooping manner, it maintained its regard upon me, its face bearing a saddened expression, as if I was to soon fade from the surface of the world like a dimmed memory. Particularly embedded in its eyes was a spirit forlorn and anguished, like one yearning to be freed from an inner prison, the key snatched away by external forces….

A glimmer of familiarity briefly illuminated the creature's features, and by this gaze, I at once comprehended a very disturbing truth.

"Renarde…?" I asked cautiously, kneeling down beside the fox.

"_Vul-vul pix…" _responded the Vulpix, giving another look most beautiful yet sorrowful, and it touched my emotions sensitively, my heart grieving, as I stroked him across the spiral-like crown. I knew it to be true: Renarde had fallen prey to the intangible, to a curse beyond my control, and here he sat in a foreign guise, his humanity detained by the same mistress who, hours previously, was his client.

"Ah, I'm under the assumption that you've found Renarde, Mrs. Jacques?" sighed Ms. Willow casually, hands behind her back. "I find him a better Vulpix than business consultant—he adapts rather quickly to his abilities…"

I stood up, true anger rising in my chest. "Change him back, Ms. Willow; if you had any shred of decency, you would change him back."

"Decency? These matters do not concern decency, chivalry, or refinement," returned the mistress, now sounding annoyed. "These matters concern only my plans and my ambitions. Renarde is an asset to my goals."

"Ensnaring an innocent man is an asset to your goals?" I repeated, fury shaking my thoughts. "Applying your sorcery on innocence is a concern to your ambitions? God have mercy on your soul!"

The mistress was plainly not listening, instead more intrigued with my apparent belief in superstitions: "I see you accept that I have powers attributed to medieval hags. You know of the enchantments I am capable of."

I inhaled deeply—truly Ms. Willow's antagonism was showing, and as confrontations were never my expertise, I began to feel a tinge of fear mixing with my ire. "Yes, I do. I've come to have a certain belief in the paranormal—after all, the proof lies here." I gestured down to Renarde, who seemed to be trying to project a warning to me, an advice to leave this place posthaste. Although leaving Tenebrosa was not far from the foreground from my mind, scooping up Renarde in my arms and fleeing, I found that I could not pull myself from the mistress's presence. It frightened me considerably: her emerald eyes were captivating, her cold gaze acting as a spell that I could not break away from.

"I'm impressed," said Ms. Willow, "though I must say that my power was given to me, believe it or not. I was not born as the mistress you see me this evening. Either way…"

"Change him back," I demanded again, although I by now doubted that she would ever do so.

"I will not," she stated simply. "He will remain as such forever—again, I find him better in this form—but I have not counted _you _out of the list, Mrs. Jacques."

I struggled to retain a steady pulse, a dreary fate creeping into my spine.

"You see," she continued, "I have no intentions of letting you stay here in Tenebrosa. You would only prove to be more of a nuisance than of an aid. I believe that through you the world will feel the pain and suffering of many centuries, weaving throughout the ages past. In addition—if I have foreseen correctly—" She gleamed in a moment of exultation. "—you perhaps will prove to be the perfect lure."

"Enough of this!" I cried. "You make little sense! Change him back—for the sake of a better world, _Change him back!_"

Ms. Willow smiled. "Oh, _someone_ will change—but not Renarde."

I glared with what I thought was a tough stare, ignoring my rising trepidation. "Very well, then—who?" Somehow I felt I knew the answer before it could even come.

The mistress jabbed a finger directly at me, leeringly. "Why, you of course. Best you share half of Renarde's fate."

The attack was a blur; neither Renarde nor I had a chance to react. We had been successfully distracted with Ms. Willow's barbed words and had briefly forgotten the other fox—the Ninetales—creeping from behind to spring an offense. Many bushy things crawled across my back; though soft and thick in one sense, they emulated an energy that tore across my body in many lightening shocks. I stumbled forward to meet the stone floor, and Renarde let out a terrified yelp.

I tried to pull myself back to my feet, but I found that I couldn't, for I felt paralyzed by the mystical energy that had struck me to the core. The only sight I could afford myself was a triumphant face, that of the Ninetales who had assaulted me. Fear shook me uncontrollably, but an even greater fright occurred seconds thereafter—it had nothing to do with the newfound splinters that had lodged themselves in every bone of my body. It had nothing to do with the cracks and crunching that began to emerge from my limbs, hands, and all else, my organs shifting about, vanishing, reappearing, moving here and there. It had nothing to do with the thick red fur that began growing and an alarming rate from every orifice of my skin, smoothing into a fine coat. It especially had nothing to do with my facial features, my mouth lengthening into a vulpine muzzle, my head sporting large pointed ears, and my hair reshaping into something foreign to me. These details made very little impact upon me, for during this strange metamorphosis, I witnessed the cruelest action that had ever befallen from Ms. Willow's hand, one that fueled my seeking to avenge.

The Ninetales had watched me change into heavens-know-what, apparently receiving its content by viewing my transformation—and I could only stare back into that grinning face, unable to move aside from involuntary snaps from my bones. But then—how can I describe it! —Renarde, out of nowhere, leapt towards the creature's neck, teeth and claws flared. Even the Ninetales recoiled with a surprised whimper as a wound slashed near its upper chest, scarlet dotting its white fur. Words and threats flew across my growing ears, and my horror undertook these chopped phrases:

"_Pix! PIX! Dare you! How _dare_ you!"_

"_You wound me, young one? I'll have to punish you for this…"_

"Let it be done, Ninetales. Let Mr. Jacques learn to respect whom he serves." 

And right before my very eyes, reflecting off of my irises and freezing the entire scene momentarily, the Ninetales reeled back and opened its muzzle wide. With a deep breath released, it exhaled a tremendous compression of fire, heat, and brimstone. Its merciless eyes kept its target close, very close, and he had lacked the agility to evade such a massive counter. It was the Fire Blast of a Ninetales—aimed directly into the whole of my husband. I opened my mouth in horrific anguish, and ailed tears formed before I could even half process the image. It was the image of Renarde—the body of a Vulpix—nothing more than a fiery lump of flesh and bones—flying well ten feet into the air, across the room, and landing in front of the collapsed hearth, at the mistress's feet…burning in the flame, emitting billows of smoke…

What I witnessed took several seconds for my brain to cognize it—then I screamed— truly screamed a horrible sound:

"Renarde…_PIX!_" I scrambled to my feet and endeavored to leap to the smoldering body, to extinguish if I could, the flames licking over the Vulpix that had held the spirit of my husband.

It cannot be, my heart reassured my thoughts…Renarde could not have just been…Ms. Willow could not have allowed…that Ninetales did not just…the Fire Blast didn't…

_Renarde could not have died._

A sudden movement blocked my intentions. The Ninetales stood before my path, blocking me from the route to Renarde. Hackles raised, teeth clenched, blood dripping from its recent wound, it spat out a warning:

"_Ninetales, tales-nine-nine…another step and you will get the same…"_

I opened my mouth to retort, but the mistress cut me off.

"Best you listen to her, Mrs. Jacques," stated Ms. Willow smoothly. "You'd feel the torture of a Fire Blast much more than Renarde would, as you still retain some of your humanity."

I briefly scanned myself. My hands were claw-like, nails longer than normal, and climbing up my arms and the rest of my body, fur as red as dull flame covered every space. My face felt different without doubt, as it was reshaped into a vulpine, yet still human, manner. Six tails had sprouted from the base of my spine, fanning outwards. My limbs, many bent at a strange angle, felt stronger, more agile…. Yet I had barely noticed these changes beforehand, being preoccupied with Renarde…Renarde's demise.

The mistress smiled in false sympathy, folding her hands across her front. "Oh, cheer up, Mrs. Jacques. I shan't let suspense linger over your head for so long. Your beloved husband is not as dead as you would think."

My head snapped up, and I peered at the Vulpix, still smoking from the blast. Indeed, I perceived a few twitches of movement. To this I breathed a sigh. Renarde was still alive, thank God…

"—But he's no doubt in a world of hurt," completed Ms. Willow. "The body of a Vulpix, being a fire-attribute, protected him from an almost certain death. Fire does not work particularly well on fire. Had you been attacked in such a way, however, you would have died…only half a Vulpix…."

I paid the mistress a look of loathing, growling slightly. "_Vul…_you cruel fiend…_pix…_"

The sorceress laughed her rattling laugh. "Cruel? How so? Renarde is not dead. He won't be attempting any more foolish attacks against my Servant for a while, true, but he is not dead."

"You enjoy the misery of others," I concluded angrily. "You care much for bloodshed."

"Maybe so," replied Ms. Willow. "But enough talk. I ask you now to leave this place." She gestured across the room, to the door. "You are no longer welcome here. Out."

A silence beckoned forth, in which no one, not even poor Renarde, moved.

Ms. Willow inhaled, and calmly repeated her simple command. "Out."

Silence again; Renarde's humbled voice panted weakly.

"Out. Or else receive a similar punishment to your husband."

The Ninetales crouched low, as if preparing to launch another deadly streak of flame. I edged backwards to the door. I very much wished to leave…but Renarde…I would not leave without him.

"You husband stays," said Ms. Willow, as if anticipating my thoughts. "You leave. Now."

I could not make my feet work; Renarde was there, badly injured. I would not leave without him…the Ninetales inhaled deeply, about to burst fire.

Renarde's voice continued to breathe faintly—but slowly, it grew to audible whispers, sounds my ears could detect:

"_Vul-vul pix…run…"_

"Renarde…" I murmured, tears matting my facial fur. "Renarde…I can't…" 

"_Don't forget me…leave now…my love…"_

The Ninetales arched its back, flames formulating at the corners of its muzzle. Ms. Willow seemed to settle back, apparently enjoying the sadness at hand, smiling serenely. 

_"Now! NOW!"_

I, perhaps by instinct or perhaps urged by my husband's words, ducked beneath the fiery stream that erupted from the daemon fox, the heat licking the fur on the back of my neck. I crashed through the door and rushed down the stairs, shuddering with tears, stumbling as I did. I found that I could run faster than ever, helped by the Vulpix agility that now possessed my body.

I tore through one hallway, then another. At last, I ran into the foyer, where Ms. Gaudium, who had returned to the entrance, was fumbling with the key, unlocking the door. Once the lock was removed, she stepped back from the door, allowing me to pass. I fairly fell to the door handles, grasping the metal in both hands. Before parting them, I allowed one last glance to the household head, perhaps my final good-byes.

As I passed the nurse, I saw in her face a world of sympathy, compassion, and regret. No apologies throughout the entire earth could compare to the ones I witnessed in her expression. Though I felt a deep vindictiveness towards those who had contributed to Renarde's fate and my own misery, I spared a large portion of my heart towards those who had also fallen before Ms. Willow and her Ninetales, and I vowed that someday, perhaps not tomorrow or the day after, that I would help them all achieve their freedom, their liberation from this horrible place, the eternal darkness that was Tenebrosa.

With this one last look, I pulled the doors open and fled into the restless night.

And gone I was, away from the walls of the mansion, over the rainy hilltops and thunder claps, gone into the forest that would forever represent the emptiness of promise, the death to happiness, the torturing of innocence, the cruelty of heart, and the evening that would never find solace for as long as it remained upon this hateful land. The fox-like cries of a Vulpix echoed over the space, stretching over fields, the woodlands, the brooks, and perhaps even the frightened villages many miles away, coming both from where I stood and from the summit I had left. Stolen away in body, mind, and spirit, the dreary rain whipping across my eyes and the wind howling somberly in the branches, I submerged myself into the shrubs and trees and was lost amongst the darkness and distance.

* * *

One more chapter completes Part I of Tenebrosa. Where will Vivian go? Who will she meet? How will she adapt to her new form as well as her misery of Renarde's own fate? I'll give you only one clue to what the future holds: in almost any work written, in any proceeding installments, if a character is given a confirmed name, then this character will play a significant role in the upcoming plot. With this spoiler revealed, Chapter Five is thus concluded. Again, a better proofread version may be posted in the near future. Please post a review if you wish—thanks. 

- A.G.M. Mendelssohn


End file.
